Secrets of Perfection
by xForeversEndx
Summary: Draco Malfoy works very hard to be perfect. When Harry walks in on a moment that he was not supposed to witness, what will happen between the two? Warning: Slash, Bulimia, Self Injury.
1. Chapter 1

I check the bathroom to be sure it's empty before locking the door behind me with my wand. I had a big lunch today, and there's a Quidditch game tonight. I lock myself in the biggest stall, cursing myself. How could I have forgotten about the game? I lean over the toilet bowl and point my wand toward myself.

"_Vomero." _ The effect is instantaneous. I gag and my stomach's barely digested food frees itself from body. I stay draped over the loo for a moment, gasping, and repeat the process again, for good measure. We're sharing a changing room with the Gryffindors tonight, because one of the tents was destroyed in last night's storm and is still being repaired. The last thing I need is to look fat.

Confident after a few minutes of heaving breathing, I stand up and unlock the stall door. I pull a toothbrush from my bag and use it quickly to rid my mouth of the taste of vomit. I rinse it in the sink, put it away, and check my reflection in the mirror. My hair is out of place. I smooth it down and take a deep breath. Everything seems to be in order.

I turn my back to the mirror and unlock the bathroom door, returning to the average flow of traffic between classes. I know that nobody suspects a thing. I scoff as I make my way down to the dungeons for my potions lesson. As a Malfoy my father has made one thing clear to me over the course of my life: Be perfect at all necessary costs. I wonder if people assume that it's Quidditch that keeps me thin, or if they put the blame on diet or metabolism. I walk through the doors to Snape's classroom and take a seat in the back, away from my roommates, and muse to myself.

I've tried dieting, don't get me wrong, and Quidditch training, no matter how strenuous, has never seemed to do the trick. Truth be told, bulimia – I think that's what the muggles call it, anyway – is so much easier to get away with than anything else. If I ever eat less than what's considered "normal," Pansy will fuss, and I get called gay for eating salad, so this is my best and only option. It's gross and my throat hurts, but I keep up my appearance of perfection without anyone suspecting that I use imperfect methods to do so.

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, feeling exhaustion taking over me. Familiar to the feeling after purges, I breathe deep and focus on the sounds of the classroom. It will pass. It always does.

"Hey, look. Malfoy's by himself." I open my eyes and look around to see Weasley, or more accurately, two Weasley's, flanked by two Potters, and two Grangers. I rub my eyes I shake my head and my vision returns to normal. The three of them are standing by the doorway. "Malfoy!" Wealey snaps at me. "Been kicked out by your own cronies, have you?" Potter and Granger are saying nothing, but don't seem to disapprove of the Weasel's behaviour. I sigh.

"No Weasley, it just so happens that I've grown tired of their company. Just like I've already tired of yours." I drawl. It isn't a lie. "Though it would be a stretch to call your presence company at all."

"Whatever, Malfoy." He says with malice. They sit themselves in the back row, across the aisle from me. I roll my eyes and regret it as I become instantly dizzy. I want rest my head on the desk, but doing so could be taken as a sign a weakness. I settle on closing my eyes and propping my chin up on my hands.

The Weasel does irritate me, I think to myself, but not for the reason everyone believes I do. His blood status, or anyone's blood status, for that matter, means nothing to me. I advertise that ideal because I have to and that is all. No, Weasley irritates me because of his imperfection. He's the least perfect person I've met whist at Hogwarts, and yet Potter loves him anyway. Granger loves him. Bloody _everyone _loves him and that damn sister of his. That's not to say everyone else _is _perfect, but for crissakes his shortcomings are written on his too short sleeve for the world to see.

It isn't fair. I glower to myself as Snape walks into the room. If I were to so much as sneeze wrong, I could be shunned for weeks by my own damn family. It's not like I _like _to throw up every day, but my fat ass isn't enough for anybody unless I do. I open my eyes and glace at Potter. Especially not him. I feel my cheeks turn pink. Groaning audibly I let my head hit the desk for just a moment before catching my mistake.

Oh, right, haven't I told you? To add to it all, my fat ass is gay. For Harry fucking Potter. I sigh to myself and look over at Parkinson. Just for that thought, I'm going to have to put her to bed tonight. Because surprise surprise, being a pillow bitter is just about the least perfect thing I can do. I shake the thoughts from my head and turn my attention to Snape. It's going to be long night.

Time break Time Break Time Break

By the time I return to the dorms after classes, I'm feeling disgusted with myself. I'm not entirely sure why, but everything I've done today has been wrong. I drop my bag off beside my bed and pick up my Quittidich bag. I'm going to head to the pitch directly after dinner.

"What's the matter with you, Malfoy?" Someone asks me and I spin around to see Blaise behind me.

"What are you talking about, Zabini?" He pulls of his shirt and I wince at the sight of his perfectly flat stomach.

"You've not said one sodding word to anybody today." I shrug.

"Haven't felt like it, I mumble," reminding myself not to eat too much tonight. I turn and leave the room without grabbing my wand. When I get downstairs, half the Slytherin team are already stuffing themselves with food. I sit with them, making forced conversation. I nibble on some chicken.

"Come on, Malfoy, eat something!" I sigh and pile my plate with proteins. I'll wait til after the game tonight to correct this consumption. The last I need is to pass out on the pitch. My stomach growls at me as I fill it with food. It's far too used to being empty.

When the team has finally had their fill, I file with the rest of them out to the pitch. The dreaded moment has come. As we enter the changing tent, my eyes are graced by the sight of the seven Gryffindor players, mostly naked. The first thing I notice is Potter, his body sculpted perfectly, muscles gleaming beneath the light of the sunset. Something stirs in my pants and scream inwardly at myself. I move to the corner of the tent – as I always do - and change with my back to the other players. I can hear Weasley complaining loudly about my presence. I sigh, finish changing, and exit the room as quickly as possible. I want to get this over with.

As the teams file onto the field, I mount my broom, beginning to feel sick as a result of over eating. I close my eyes, trying to overcome it. The whistle blows. I take off. 5 minutes later, it's over, because somehow Potter spotted and caught the Snitch before I even noticed. I land with caution a few metres from my own team, knowing what wrath I am about to face. I let us loose. Before they can find me, I sneak back to the changing tent and put my normal clothes back on while it's still empty. I hesitate as I put on my shirt, looking down at my stomach. I'm pulled out of my thoughts as my teammates enter angrily into the locker room. Resisting the urge to cry, I leave the tent and head back toward the dungeons.

I pass a bathroom on the way there, and almost pass it by before remember the sight of my stomach a few moments a go. I pause, and enter. I rummage momentarily though my bag before I remember that I don't have my wand. Cursing, I go to the furthest stall and lock the door behind me. I shove my finger down my throat and for the second time today, the contents of my stomach spill into the toilet. I do this twice, and flush. The resolve I've had all day is beginning to crack, and for the first time in a while, I'm actually crying. Wiping at my cheeks, I open the door to find myself face to face with Potter.

Harry. Fucking. Potter.


	2. Chapter 2

I stop in my tracks and stare at Potter, frozen. Panic rises in my throat, seizing my stomach and almost making me throw up again. A thousand options flash through my mind, each stupider than the last. I stop crying out of shock. Should I curse him…?

He's staring at me, appearing torn between pity and disbelief. Of the scores of excuses that run through my head, I can't think of one that he would believe. But still, I've got to try.

"What are you staring at, Potter?" I attempt to spit out, but the panic in my throat makes my voice tight and shaky, and I know I've failed before the words are even out of my mouth. My brain – searching frantically – runs out of options and the inside of me breaks, allowing the idea of entrapment sink fully into my mind. Suddenly and without warning, something shatters. I burst into tears, feeling the drops sliding one after another down my cheeks, my efforts toward their stopping only making them fall faster. I feel sick.

I can't put into words why, but I've never been more afraid in my life. For the first time, my imperfection has been exposed. It is the greatest shame that I can put on my family – on myself. I'm alone. No longer will I be an accepted member of the Malfoy name. My housemates will shun me. I will have nowhere to go… And my enemy – my very worst enemy – has seen me at my weakest.

Unable to stop crying, I turn away from Potter, wishing that he'd go away while at the same time knowing his departure would mean my social death. I want to sit down but the only available surface is this filthy washroom floor…

I hear footsteps approach me and a moment later I feel a hand upon my shoulder. I flinch.

"Go away." I stammer out. I'm trembling, knowing that he's so near. I close my eyes and see my father approaching me, with an angry look on his face. I choke back on sobs. I can't go home after this. He'll kill me this time for sure…

"Malfoy…" I bite my lip. I've ruined the Malfoy name… "Are you…" He doesn't finish.

"Am I what?" I snap, my back still turned, convinced the question isn't to be a friendly one.

"Well… I was going to ask if you were okay…" He says awkwardly. "But I think the answer there is obvious…"

"I'm fine." I try snapping, though it lacks any conviction. "Just leave me alone."

"I can't do that, Malfoy." He says firmly. "Turn around." I wipe at my face. I shake my head.

"I don't need to see you fucking laughing me, thanks." I mumble.

"I'm not laughing, Malfoy. This is serious."

"It's none of your business." I whisper. "Leave me be."

"Well it just became my business," he snaps at me, with a touch of annoyance. "And if I were you, Malfoy, I wouldn't shove off the only person who actually gives a shit that you're in here crying your eyes out by yourself so it's your choice!" I spin around.

"LIKE YOU ACTUALLY FUCKING CARE!" I shout. "LIKE YOU REALLY GIVE A SHIT IF I JUST DO MYSELF IN RIGHT HERE IN FRONT OF YOU! YOU BASTERD!" I want to continue shouting but I can't manage it the through the sobs that are now wrenching themselves from my body. Potter's added another to the list. He's reminded me. No one even gives a shit… "You fucking b-bastard…" I shove past him and storm out of the bathroom, breaking into a blind run the moment I clear the doorway. Knowing the dungeons will now be full of angry Slytherins, I turn toward the staircase, sprinting upstairs and bursting though the castle doors, despite it now being after hours.

I don't pay attention to any potential onlookers as I run, but I don't think I pass anyone as I make my way outside. I stop only as I reach the lakeshore, standing there, pondering whether I should dive in and drown myself. Muffled footprints approach me from behind. I collapse to the ground and bury my face in my knees. Please god just leave me alone…

Potter sits beside me and says nothing for about 5 minutes. I suspect he's watching me, but I refuse to look up at him. I'm still crying and I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing any more tears. A thunderclap booms loudly overhead, followed by a single drop of rain that quickly becomes a downpour. I don't move, but smile to myself, thanking whatever gods may exist for providing me with an escape. Surely, Potter won't sit out in the rain.

Ten more minutes of his company, however, tells me that my assumption is wrong. Potter still hasn't said a word. Crying still, but slower, I finally lift my head slightly to look at him. As I suspected, he's staring at me with a patient expression on his face.

"Go away!" I yell with a sob. "Please…" I'm willing to beg. "Please just leave me alone." Rain running off his nose, he looks at me and says very matter of fact

"No." I stare at him, crying. He stares back. "Why don't you come inside and sit by the fire with me, Malfoy?" He invites. His voice is reassuring, but given our history I just cannot find it in me to trust him. I shake my head, water spraying off my hair like a wet dog.

"N-no." I stutter, now beginning to shiver from the cold. After a few moments of silence he sighs.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier." He offers. "It was harsh."

"It was true." I answer quietly. I sniff, starting to feel like I will never be able to stop crying until he goes away. His presence is keeping me from calming. My state of panic refuses to go away.

"I doubt that, Malfoy." He says gently. I know he's only saying it because he thinks it will calm me down. "At the absolute least, you are not alone."

"You hate me," I mumble. "You fucking hate me." He's silent for a long while before he finally answers me.

"Well…" He says slowly, giving the air of awkwardness. "If you're sitting out here crying right now, my best guess is that the Malfoy I've been acquaintance to for all these years isn't actually the real you." I say nothing, silently acknowledging this truth. "So…" he continues, even more awkwardly, "I can't rightly hate a person that I don't even know. Now please," he extends me a hand. "Come inside before you're ill." When I don't move he adds, "You don't have to tell me a thing. Just come inside."

I take his hand and allow him to help me up. The calmness in his voice and the kindness that he's showing me with his face is beginning to sooth my panicky urge to run. I'm able to draw a full breath for the first time since this whole thing began. Shaky on my feet, I stumble, and he grabs me.

"Careful…" When he's sure I have my balance he doesn't let go entirely. He leads me up to the castle, keeping a hand on my shoulder as we walk. As much as I hate Potter and as horrible a history as we've had, the effect is calming. He opens the castle door and guides me in, the warmth swallowing me like a blanket. I feel suddenly tired, but still afraid.

He guides me up staircase after staircase. Eventually, I lose track of our location and allow him to guide me, focusing instead on my ability to breathe evenly, my arms wrapped around myself to keep from shivering with cold from the rain water. Somewhere along our path, I finally stop crying. After what feels like an hour, he halts me, and I look around, taking in our location for the first time. We appear to be on the seventh floor. Potter passes back and forth along a stretch of wall and for a crazy moment I wonder whether he's trying to decide what do with me now he's got me in full seclusion.

A moment later, however, the irrational part of me is silenced by the appearance of door, and I realize that this is the same room that I broke into in 5th years by the order of Umbridge. I've always wondered how to properly access this room, and watching Potter do it hasn't made the secret any less of one.

"Come on." He says quietly. He leads me into the room. Expecting the room with mirrors from our younger years, I'm surprised to find the room to be a cosy round study, complete with a lighted fireplace and several comfortable looking armchairs. There are dry robs hanging on a hook on the corner. Seeing my gaze, Potter urges me to put one on. He turns his head as I change and a moment later he does the same.

Once in dry clothing, he ushers me into a chair that does indeed prove to be soft. He walks away for a moment and returns with a blanket. He drapes it over my still shivering shoulders and hands me a hot mug of what seems to be a muggle drink because I've never experienced an aroma like this one.

"It's cider," he tells me, catching on to my quizzical look. "It's a brilliant muggle drink. Wonderful this time of year" I look at it suspiciously and then watch him sip from his own mug. "Try it." I do. As the hot liquid reaches my lips, I'm attacked by the smell of apple and perhaps a touch of cinnamon. The beverage warms me to my core as I lean back into my armchair and allow the heat to take me over. Potter sits in a chair across from mine and sips from his own mug.

I stare into my cup, finding myself unable to meet his gaze. Tears start to well up on me again, this time out of sadness. In this soft room with a wonderful drink and my greatest enemy, I feel utterly helpless and alone. I've never considered my imperfections to be anything other than just that – a part of daily life I had to deal with and fix to achieve perfection and by virtue, happiness. It was normal. Fine. Perfect.

But something about the way Potter has been treating me tonight has awakened something in my mind that's probably been hiding in there for a very long time. I'm not fine. I'm not fine at all in fact, I'm horrible. Not one person here even knows who I am. No one even cares. I've been… hiding…. My lip quivers and I sniff, wiping impatiently at my eyes. The only desire I have at the moment is to weep. I glance up at Potter, realizing that I don't deserve treatment like this.

"Are you okay?" Potter's voice startles me from my thoughts. I stare back down at my mug and nod my head. Its blatant lie and I think he knows it. I hear him sigh. "I know we've never had good footing, Malfoy," he tells me. "But I know your secret now and I want to help. It's to you to believe me. I won't force you to sit down and talk with me, and I will keep this encounter between us and us alone. From the looks of tonight, you don't have a soul to turn to. So I will leave you this. You can talk to me any time you like. It doesn't even have to be about this. I'm willing to be a friend to you if you're willing to let me."

"I…" I cut off, unsure how to respond. "I… I wasn't crying because of the Quidditch match!" I blurt out very quickly for some reason needing him to know that. He nods at me.

"I never assumed you were." He tells me softly. I stare into the golden liquid in my cup.

"C-can we stay here?" I ask before thinking. "J-just for a bit…" I swallow a lump and he nods at me.

"However long you need, Draco." His use of my first name hits me like a brick. I honestly can't remember the last time anyone's been so personal with me. A few tears escape down my face but I don't bother this time to wipe them away.

We spend the next hour in absolute silence before I finally stand and tell him that I'm ready to go to bed. Without a word, he walks me back to the dungeons, a hand on my shoulder just as it was before. By now, my roommates should be asleep. I'm safe, for the moment. I nod to him in thanks, unable to articulate my emotions. He nods back.

"Anytime you something," he says firmly. "Draco." I resist the urge to hug him (Malfoys would never stoop to such a thing) and open the common room door with the password. I enter the darkened lounge and turn, just soon enough to watch his face disappear from sight.

The door closes, swallowing me in darkness, and allowing the fear to return.


	3. Chapter 3

I wake up the following morning feeling only marginally better. My housemates, still angry about last night's match, are ignoring me. I prefer this to negative attention and decide to make this best of it. I ignore them right back and get myself ready for the day.

As I ready for classes, all I'm able to think about is last night. A large part of me wants to crawl back into bed and avoid the public eye for the rest of my life. Though no potions today, I have double DADA with the Gryffindors, which means I'll be forced into a room with Potter. I give it a fifty fifty chance that he's told all of Gryffindor house about my breakdown last night. I briefly consider skipping DADA altogether, but my marks can't afford it at the moment.

Uniform on, hair straightened, and bag packed, I head out to the dungeon halls. It's empty – for the moment. Until potions lessons begin the dungeons are like a ghost town. The closer I approach the Great Hall, the harder it is to move my feet. If everyone is ignoring me, I could probably get away with not eating this morning…

I walk up the final flight of steps and round the final corner, and I as I near the Hall I can hear the dull roar of people talking. I pause at the entryway, take a deep breath, and step inside. At first, no one pays any notice, but some Gryffindor arse who I'm not familiar with points me out the people sitting around him. I brace myself – Potter's obviously told.

"Look, everyone!" He shouts. "It's our hero!" I look around, confused. Three Gryffindors are applauding me, to the amusement of most of the table. It takes a few moments of standing there and starting like an idiot for me to realize that they're talking about last night's match. Cursing myself for coming up with the Weasley is Our King jab 5th year (it must be where they thought of it), I turn away and keep walking. This Slytherins, now even more irate at the Gryffindor's antics, are sure to slide further down the table to avoid me. Everyone, of course, except for Pansy.

"Oh, Draco, don't let those mean Gryffindors get to you!" She croons as she slides up to me, closer than I would like. "No one blames you for the match last night." I scoff and she starts to pile food onto my place. I groan, not feeling remotely hungry.

"Shut up, Pansy." I mumble.

"I tried to find you last night," she continues, "to make you feel better." She winks and I nearly retch. "But I had no idea where you'd gone."

"It's none of your business, Pansy." She pouts.

"Go on and eat something, hun!" I groan and stick some eggs in my mouth. Having her watch me eat boosts my self- consciousness level. I suddenly feel gross. Having sat with my back to the rest of the Great Hall, I begin to wish I hadn't. Everyone is probably watching me, waiting to see the what the Prince of Slytherin will do next. Even though my housemates are mad at me, I know that I'm going to have to play it off as my choice to avoid them…

I start to feel sick. After the realization of a century last night, I still have to get through today proving that I'm perfect. That I'm good enough for these fucking…

I stand up.

"Draco, where are you going?" Pansy shouts after me.

"To the bathroom," I mumble at her vaguely. I grab up my bag and rush from the Hall, away from their scrutiny. They probably think I'm a pig. That's why I couldn't catch the damn snitch last night. I'm not small or agile like a seeker is supposed to be. I'm thin, maybe, moderately. But it's not enough. Why would it be enough?

I find the men's room and rush inside, nausea growing inside me. I hurry into a stall without bothering to lock the door, convinced that I don't have time. I hover over a toilet bowl, waiting. The bile never actually comes, nausea sitting inside me, taunting me, making me gag. I spit into the toilet, hoping it will expedite the process. I gag again, but nothing comes up.

Eyes watering and groaning to myself, I pull out my wand. I have to make this go away.

"_Vomero" _I point the wand at myself and the spell makes me do what my body just couldn't quite manage on its own. I throw up twice, and stand over a toilet for full minute before the feeling goes away. I flush and look down at my stomach, wishing it were like my Quidditch mates. Well, minus the beaters. I stand upright and unlock the stall door.

As I approach the sink and pull out my toothbrush, I notice for the first time that there's someone else in the bathroom. After having close to heart attack, I take in the appearance of the person and realize who it is. It's Potter. Again.

Certainly not about to start crying again, I stare at him suspiciously and decide to ignore him. I don't know if he thinks that following me here will create a replay of last night, and if so, he's wrong. The shock value is gone, the panic is gone. He's already seen it all, and there's no use pretending. I pull out my tooth brush and start brushing a few sinks down the row. Potter just watches me without a word. Anger builds inside my chest, but I say nothing. I wish he'd leave.

After watching me for what feels like an hour, he speaks.

"How long have you been doing this, Malfoy?" I spit toothpaste into the sink and wash out my mouth.

"You didn't tell anyone, then?" I answer in response. He's quiet before he answers.

"I said I wouldn't." We watch each other awkwardly.

"Well…" I say after a long silence. "Thanks." He nods at me. I pull a comb from my back and brush my hair back into place. He doesn't leave. "Why did you follow me?" I don't know what he wants from me.

"I'm not sure," he tells me after a moment. "I knew you'd be alone." I put the comb in my bag and turn to face him.

"Wanted to see me cry again, more like." I cross my arms over my chest. He rubs the back of his hair.

"Uh… no." He doesn't meet my eye. "I wanted to talk to you, actually."

"Then talk." We stare at each other.

"I… well… I didn't think that far ahead, really, I…" He doesn't finish and sighs. "I don't want to pretend last night didn't happen." I put my bag over my shoulder and start walking away.

"Well I do, so…" He grabs my arm, and I spin around ready to hit. "What the fuck do you want from me?" He lets go of me like he just grabbed something hot.

"Sorry." He says shortly. "Look, Malfoy, I really don't know what I'm doing here. Could you please just give me a chance to figure out what I'm trying to say?" I don't believe what I'm hearing. I'm standing on wet floor in a washroom that smells like vomit, I'm late to class, and I'm looking at my enemy who's trying to have a heart to heart.

"Look, Potter," I tell him, becoming more and more annoyed. "I don't have time for this and neither do you. We're _both _about to be late for Defence." Looking both more uncomfortable and more persistent, Potter sighs.

"Alright then," He tells me resolutely. "We'll have to do this afterwards." I look at him incredulously.

"What makes you think there's going to be an afterwards, Potter? You came in on a bad moment last night. That doesn't mean we have to be best friends or something. Thank you for what you did last night but it's over now. It's done. Finished. You do not have to do anything from here on out nor do I need you to. So please stop feeling like you're fucking obligated!" I spin around and start to (once again) storm out of the bathroom.

"I don't feel obligated!" He spits at my back, quickly. I don't stop walking and push open the bathroom door.

"It smells like vomit in there," I say to him as he walks at my heels. "If you're going to insist on talking to me you can do it while I walk." I'm not actually sure why I'm treating him this way. Do I honestly want to keep being the Malfoy I always am, or could this actually be an opportunity to be myself for once? Either way it doesn't matter because he's only making me a charity case anyway.

"Malfoy, for some reason I'm actually fucking worried about you!" He snaps at me, and I feel guilty and a little hurt realizing that I'm starting to piss him off. We approach the classroom door. "It's up to you, okay? Talk to me after class if you decide you want to give me a chance." I stop and he passes me without a word. I follow him in, feeling conflicted.

The truth is, I really do want to hear what he has to say. I really have always wished that he knew me. But at the same time, I'm scared of what could happen if I trust him and it turns out that I never should have. I've never trusted anyone, so I don't know my emotional threshold for betrayal. I can't handle much right now. So maybe that exactly why I should trust him…

I groan audibly and slam my forehead on the desk.

Time Break Time Break Time Break

By the time class lets out, I've made up my mind four separate times on what to do. As the bell rings, I've decided to let Potter tell me what he wants to say. I look through the throng of people bottle-necking their way through the doorway to try to find Potter before I change my mind for a 5th time. I see him lingering toward the back, evidently waiting to see what I'll do. Weasley and Granger have joined the crowed so he obviously told them not to wait up.

I wait for everyone to leave, under the pretence of looking for something in my bag, and then leave the room, hoping that Potter will take the hint. He does. Two seconds behind me, he leaves too. I glance around the crowded hallway and no one seems to suspect at thing. I stop in alcove, again "looking for something." He walks past me.

"Seventh floor." He mutters in my direction as he passes.

I follow him a few paces behind up 6 stair cases and through countless corridors until we again reach the same stretch of wall that was our destination last night. I can't help but feel thankful for his discretion, though a part of me thinks that he didn't want to embarrass himself by being seen with me, and he wasn't actually trying to protect me from prying eyes. I watch silently as Potter opens the passageway, and follow him into the room.

The room isn't much different than it was last night. The robes are missing, but aside from that it's the same cosy study from before. I sit down and play with my thumbs. From a glance at the clock on the wall, I can see that we both have an hour before our next classes. 7th years, aside from overly ambitious ones like Granger, have the second hour free.

"So…" I say, breaking the silence. "What did you want to say to me, exactly?" I try to avoid looking into his eyes, which have more of an ability to capture me than I would ever care to admit. He's silent for a long while.

"Malfoy…" He starts slowly, and I wince at the use of my surname. Here, in this environment, I feel much less tense, less guarded. And, well, honestly, I wish for once someone aside from Pansy would use my first name.

"Draco." I say softly to myself.

"What?" I look up. I hadn't meant for him to hear me.

"Draco…" I say a little louder. "My name is Draco." For some reason, this makes me emotional, and I swallow back just the smallest of a lump. I look back down at my lap. "No one ever calls me Draco." I whisper. He looks surprised.

"Would you like me to call you Draco?" He asks me kindly. I bite on my lower lip and nod. I wipe at my eyes, not wanting to cry again. There's something about this place that's making me vulnerable. Everyone always identifies me by my father… my family… I'm never just… me…

"Draco," he starts again slowly, and I look up at him. "We've been in school together for seven years now. I guess… I guess in that time you've just become a part of my life. No, we've never particularly gotten on but… well, I wouldn't to see you, you know…" I don't.

"Know what?" I ask, nervous.

"From the looks of last night you're a few punches from falling off the edge." It takes me a few moments to understand his analogy.

"I… I'm not going to kill myself!" I say in what was supposed to be an indignant tone. It come out uncertainly instead, because as I say it, I wonder if he's right. He looks at me gently and I feel a wave of panic rush over me. I'm not that lost, am I?

"Seeing you last night and earlier today has made me realize that I don't really know you." He's picking up confidence and his speech becomes less hesitant. "Made me realize that probably _no _one _really_ knows you. We've been civil the past two years, Malfoy. I'd like to actually meet you. " I start crying silently. He's right.

"I…" I don't know what to say so I close my mouth and let him carry on.

"Even though we've never liked each other, you're still someone who's always been around. I'm not going to sit back and watch you fall apart. Absolutely nobody deserves that, even people who have acted like pricks their whole life. And, hell, Draco, if the real you isn't even the arse you pretend to be then… well _why _do you do it?"

"Because I have to." I say shakily. He shakes his head.

"No… no you don't." I nod my head and wipe tears from my cheeks, cursing myself for crying in front of him for the second time in 2 days.

"I do." I tell him. "I'm a Malfoy. It's what's expected of me. You wouldn't understand." I feel myself starting to clam up again. He raises his eyebrows at me.

"Wouldn't understand?" He asks me. "Draco, the entire wizarding world expects me to be its saviour. I understand image and expectation but I haven't let it stop me from living a normal life. I can hardly imagine your family would disown you if you turned out be a little different…" With this, I pull up my sleeve, his words striking me and making me cry harder. I stand and I shove my arm out to him. He looks at it bemusedly.

I cuff my robe sleeve with my hand and rub at my arm with the material. The concealing cream I put there this morning rubs off, revealing the burn marks on my arm. He looks up at me in shock.

"Did your father do that to you?" I nod, drawing in pathetic, tearful breaths.

"You don't kn-now my family." I stutter. "If they knew I was even t-talking to you I'd be gone…" He looks at me worriedly for a few moments, seeming in conflict about something. Suddenly he stands up and, hesitating briefly, he throws his arms around me in a hug. I stop breathing for a moment out of shock, and then – against my better judgement – lean into him. I just cry for a minute or so, and he rubs my back as I start to calm down. No one's ever hugged me like that before. Ever. I close my eyes as he lets go, attempting to regain my composure. I resist my urge to thank him. He puts his hands on my shoulders and makes me look at him.

"That's abuse, Draco." I shrug.

"I'm of age soon anyway. And father's at the Ministry." He just stares me in the eyes with a serious expression on his face. "There's no way out of it." I tell him firmly.

"We graduate this year, Draco." He tells me. "You don't have to be like them." I pull away from him and sit down.

"I don't have anywhere to go." He seems to think for a moment.

"Well…" he says after a while. "You do now." I look up. "You can stay with me."

"That's nice of you Potter but… I couldn't…" I'm overwhelmed and at the same time convinced he's just being rash and will come to his senses as soon as he realizes what he just said.

"But that's months from now," he says, acting as though I hadn't said anything. "Right now, I want to focus on you. The real you." I shrink back in my chair.

"You don't want to know the real me…" I say quietly, imagining what would happen if he were to discover my sexuality. "No one does."

"I do." He says earnestly. "But I can't do that unless you'll let me." I sigh.

"I… I don't know if I can…"

"Draco," I look at his face. "Do you really want to leave this place, go back to your father, and have spent seven years at a school where no one even knew you?" Tears well in my eyes again.

"N-no…" I want someone to know me. Just one person. I've always wanted it to be him.

"I _want _to know you, Draco. Will you do me the honour of letting me?"

"I… Yes." I say. "But… but only if you promise that you won't hurt me." His green eyes meet my grey and he answers me firmly.

"I promise, Draco. I won't be the one to make you fall."

"I'll hold you to it," I tell him. He nods.

"I know."

And as we sit in silence, I feel all my armour fall away.


	4. Chapter 4

When I finally get back to my room on the day Potter and have our meeting, the first thing I do is collapse onto my bed and pull shut my curtains. I promised Potter that I'd let him meet the real me. I put my pillow on my face sigh, trying to fight off a fresh wave a panic. I can't show him the real me. The real me is pathetic…

I roll over and try to get comfortable, deciding it would be best just to go to sleep, thereby forcing myself to ignore the feeling. Despite the urge to do so, the bigger part of me knows the likely hood of that actually happening are slim and none.

"I won't let you be the only person sharing yourself," Harry had said to me. "For everything you tell me, I will tell you something about yourself. We can start small – that's fine, I just would like us to be friends."

What Harry didn't and doesn't understand is that I don't know _how _to be friends with someone. Not legitimately anyway. Any friendship or relationship I've ever had has been superficial – designed more for reputational purposes than functional ones. This whole concept has me scared to death. That doesn't mean I don't want to – by any means – but… I just… I don't know if I can.

I roll over one more time onto my stomach and reach my hand out of the curtains to pull open the drawer of my night table. I rummage around, searching for the book I've been reading, hoping it will provide me with a distraction. After a few blind gropes, I find the spine of the book, but also feel something cold on the side of my hand. I turn my hand and grasp the metallic object and pull it out, bringing it into my lair and in front of my face.

It's a switch blade.

In all honestly, I'd completely forgotten that I had this. It's silver, with a green bejewelled serpent encrusted on the handle. According to my father, it's meant to be some sort of heirloom. Then again, so is everything we seem to own. I wouldn't dispute that the blade is old, though. In all likelihood it probably is a Malfoy family treasure. I switch it open. There's something I can't make out engraved on the blade, near the handle. It looks like name.

I peculiar feeling washes through me as I stare at the obviously sharp edge of the knife. I'm not sure this is a feeling I like, but it's also one that I've had before. My eyes glance again at the emerald serpent and I feel myself fill with hatred for it and everything it stands for. The Malfoy family, the Slytherin house, wealth, fortune, and worst of all the incessant need for grandeur and perfection. Everything about my life is a show. I swear to the gods, I think sometimes that it's going to kill me.

I hold out my arm and absently place the tip of the blade on my bare, ivory skin. I'm applying no pressure and yet the sharpness of the edge is evident. This blade is the culmination about everything in this materialistic play that has become my life. I'm nothing more than a puppet for my father's image. I press down on the blade a little and gasp as it effortlessly slices into my arm. They can do whatever they want to me and get away with it.

I drag the blade across my wrist with a slow and deliberate motion, watching object trail blood across my skin, just as this life style has been doing to me for years. No matter the way it appears, I'm never actually _good _enough for anything I do. That's evidence in his treatment of me. I lift the knife from my skin and place it down again, slightly beneath the first, and apply pressure again.

The serpent – for a second time – bites into my arm, poisoning me like the clutches of wealth and power have infested my family name for years. The blood excites me; physically manifesting the pain they've been inflicting my entire life. I move the blade down again and this time press harder.

My father has never hugged me. Affection is a display of weakness. The blood wells and I move further down my arm.

Everything I do requires punishment, and tonight should not exempt me. The knife cuts like silk across the burns branded on my arm. Father always told me that my expectations span further than the clutches of our home. I press on.

Each cut represents something that they've done to me. Each drop of blood is something more that I've done wrong, and it's only fitting that this family heirloom be the object to do the honour of causing me pain. It's been killing me slowly for years now.

After the fourth cut, I stop counting. The only thing I focus on is the stinging on my arm and alarmingly bright crimson liquid slowly beading up and dripping down my skin. I make each cut slowly, watching every second of mutilation, relishing in the sensation and sights of my imperfections, each one laid out in a row, one after the next, for everyone to see.

Potter doesn't deserve this. He shouldn't have to deal with insanity, my messiness, and my pitiful excuse for social skill. Nor should he deal my horrid lack of emotional security. He's better than that. He's better than me – and everyone knows that. I dig the blade in deeper for him. He's doing me a kindness that I haven't even earned. A gash opens on my arm.

The disgusting part is that I want him to help me, even when I haven't worked for it. It's selfish, and it's horrid. I add three cuts for this thought.

I need him, though I can't let anyone know that. One cut for dependence.

I _want _him. Three for perversion.

I stop slashing at myself and fold the blood-stained knife shut without cleaning it, and then hold out my arm to admire my handiwork. There are 15.

I may have gone overboard, or I may not have, but honestly, I don't care. I have the rest of my life to take them in moderation. Tonight is a blissful relief. I toss the blade back into my drawer and stare at my bleeding arm. I should do something to stem the dripping blood.

I grab my robe, which I tossed onto my bed when I entered the room earlier today, and pull it on over the stinging cuts. I open the curtains and discretely as possible, I tread into the bathroom. I pull up the robe sleeve and run my bleeding arm beneath some running water. It stings.

When I've washed the cuts clean, I dab at my arm with a towel. For a moment I stop to assess the damage, and determine none of them are bad enough to require further attention, aside from two. I bandage them up, hoping one of them won't require magical healing, and pull the robe back over my arm. I crawl into bed, pulling the covers around me a cocoon.

Tomorrow, Potter and I will meet by the lake to talk.

Maybe he can save me.


	5. Chapter 5

When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I notice is the stinging on my arm, and I feel my stomach drop out of a pit somewhere in my body. Looking at them now, hours later, all I can think about his hiding them. The concealment cream that I use to cover the burns is only meant as a scar concealer…

I pull back my hangings and – robe on – tiptoe into the bathroom to avoid waking my roommates. I pull my concealment cream (labelled toothpaste, to prevent curiosity), and turn it over to read the label. I scroll through ingredients, directions and whatnot until I find what I'm looking for.

**Warning: Madame Mary's Concealment Cream is not intended for use on open cuts or sores. Unhealed wounds should be bandaged and treated with a proper healing potion and if needed taken to a professional Healer. **

I sigh and squeeze a few drops onto my right index finger anyway. It's worth a shot. I rub some of the cream onto a single cut and almost scream as a searing pain shoots through my entire arm. Eyes watering, I watch the cut closely. The wound appears to bubble, and the colour of laceration if anything seems brighter with the irritation. I put the cut under running water and try to wash off the cream. It doesn't make it hurt less. I'll have to visit the library sometime today and see if they make a concealer for unhealed wounds and where I might be able to find it. If I only I knew any healing charms…

Making a mental note to read up on healing charms as well, I pull the robe over my now more painfully stinging cuts and walk slowly back into the room. I glance at the clock on the wall and see that it's not quite time for me to up yet. I crawl back under the covers and close my eyes, hoping to catch maybe another half hour or an hour of sleep, but my mind seems to have other ideas.

How am I going to keep this hidden? Should I keep doing it? I can't let Potter know about this… It could make him change his mind about wanting to know me. But maybe that's the kind of thing I'm supposed to be telling him…

I roll over in frustration and put the pillow over my head in an attempt to block my thoughts out with the light. It doesn't work. After roughly 15 minutes of trying to put myself back to sleep, I give up, and once again pull open my curtains. I dress slowly and decide I may as well head over to the library now.

Still careful not to wake anyone, I grab my wand, bag, and the knife (just in case) from my bedroom drawer, and close the door as quietly as possible as I leave.

The dungeon is even chillier today than usual, and I pull my robe more tightly around me as I walk through the stone corridor toward to the steps leading to the upper floors, occupied with the thoughts of my meeting with Potter.

Second hour seems simultaneously days away, and seconds. I groan, knowing the apprehension in my stomach won't go away until after the meeting's actually happened.

As I reach the stairs, I glance out a window that happens to be facing the lake. The grey grass is frosted over, and there looks the possibility of snow. It's November, I think. It'll be the first snow of the year. I make a mental note to grab my cloak before going out to meet Potter.

It takes me about 15 minutes to reach the library, because I'm going slowly. I keep thinking about what I did last night. I've been throwing up for about 2 years now, and aside from Potter, no suspects a thing because I keep it at a good balance. But this… this is new. I'm not sure where I even got the idea…

I grab the freezing gate handle and open the wrought iron fence surrounding the library. There are a few early morning bookworms settled in armchairs, mainly around the fire burning in the centre of the room. I cross my arms around my chest, feeling cold, and start walking up and down aisles until I find the section marked "Healing."

Crouching low, so as to get a better look at the books on the bottom row, I start looking for anything that could introduce me to a concealment cream that I can use on an open cut. It takes me three rows of shelving before I find anything useful, and it's actually a book on healing charms. Sighing, I sit down, cross-legged, in the middle of the aisle way and open the book up in my lap. If I can learn how to heal them, I can use the concealer that I already have.

I scan down the list of contents.

_Bone Breaks …. 2  
Bruises …. 6  
Burns …. 10  
Simple Cuts and Sores ….. 15_

After finding what I'm looking for, I stop reading and flip to the appropriate page. I skim past the couple of pages outlining the history of these charms, and stop when I see something that looks like an incantation. The book lists a few different spells worth trying, but to my frustration, they look complicated. I shake my head at my surprise. Aside from Aurors, Healers require the most amount of schooling and are considered to do very difficult work. I groan, and close the book, resolving to check it out and try some of these spells later.

I continue looking around the section for a concealer and I can't seem to find anything. Glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner, I see that I still have roughly half an hour before class. I start aimlessly wandering among shelves.

Eventually, I give up on finding anything that would lead me to a proper concealer and plop myself into an armchair that's near enough the fire to keep me from freezing, but far enough from the other students to keep me from being bothered.

I stare into the fire until I hear the bell ring, but even then I'm reluctant to move. Though potions is a class that I'm generally good at, I have no desire to be in the damp cold dungeon classroom with both the Gryffindors and the other Slytherins. I sigh, knowing that if I skip class Snape will write my father, and get unsteadily to my feet. My stomach growls and I scowl, feeling hungry but unwilling to eat.

I trek back down the stairs leading to the dungeons.

When I walk into the potions classroom the first thing that I notice is Potter. He's sitting toward the back and from the smile he gives me, I get the impression that he's been waiting for me. I stop for a moment, debating with myself. I'm not sure but I think he might be gesturing me to sit with him. I stand in the middle of the aisle for a moment, and determine that, as nice as Potter's intentions may be, I don't want to draw attention to myself by sitting with my publicly mortal enemy. He doesn't seem affronted when I take a seat across the aisle.

I spend most of the class thinking about what's going to happen when this period is over. I can't imagine that it'll end well. Sometime in the midst of our discussion, he's going to decide that I'm not who he thought he was – whomever that may be – and that I'm not worth his time after all. Somehow he's going to realize that all I really am is pathetic. At some point during today, he's going to change his mind completely and go back to treating me at the very least as cold and indifferently as everyone else, and I'll go back to having only Pansy be interested in my wellbeing.

Eventually, I wind up just resting my head on my desk for the majority of the class. It's a lecture today, so I don't even have the excitement of potion making to keep me occupied. About 10 minutes before the bell is due to the ring I'm reminded that charms (one of my worst subjects) are not the only way to heal a cut. I pick my head up and start glancing at the posters around the room. I could try to brew a healing potion… My marks have been falling lately, I could just as easily offer to do extra work for Snape. Tell him I'm interested in being Healer…

The bell rings and I stand up, feeling a rush of dizziness as I do so too quickly. I'm one of the last to leave and as I do, I realize that Potter is leaning against the outside doorway, clearly waiting. I approach him slowly, finding myself unable to look him in the eyes.

"Hi…" I say awkwardly. He smiles warmly.

"Hello, Draco." He says, remembering to address me by my first name. "How are you feeling today."

"Fine." I lie, quietly.

"It's really cold outside. Why don't we go someplace a little more inviting?" I just nod. "Do you want to go up to our study in the Room of Requirement?"

"Sure." I'm not entirely sure why I feel unable to speak.

"Alright, let's go." I follow him up 8 flights of stairs to the 7th floor.

Before I know it, I'm once again sitting in the large armchair in the circular study that Potter and I have been talking in. I notice this time as I enter that there's a plate of light sandwiches sitting on a small table in the middle of the room. The sort of thing that someone with a rough stomach would have an easy time keeping down. They're cut into little triangles.

"Please eat something, Draco." Potter tells me as we sit down. "I didn't see you at breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," I mumble softly. He looks at me disbelievingly.

"I'm serious. Eat something." I reach for the smallest triangle and start to nibble at it slowly, unwilling to let Potter see me stuff my face like a pig. "So how are you doing, Draco? Honestly." I shrug.

"Not so good, I guess." I still can't look him in the eye. "What did you expect?"

"I'm not sure." I knew it. He expected me to be perfect. He's gonna give up. "I was hoping you'd be feeling better," he says. He doesn't sound disappointed, only sincere.

"Why?" I hear myself, feeling bitter. "So you don't have to deal with this?" He looks surprised.

"Well, no, Draco." He looks at me curiously. "I just don't like to see you hurting." For some reason this makes me feel a little bit like crying.

"Oh," is all I manage to say.

"Look, Draco," he tells me, seeming to pick up a little bit of speed. "You're not required to trust me right away." I look him in the eyes for the first time. "If you'd like, we can just talk. I'd like to know you, is all. It's okay if we start slow." I want to talk to him. I really do.

"Well what do you want to talk about?" He give a friendly shrug.

"Whatever you want, Draco." Curse this fire. I'm starting to feel hot and I don't feel comfortable removing my robe. My shirt sleeve could slide up…

For some reason all I really want to talk about is what I did to myself last night. I've never done something like that before. I've never even thought about doing something like that before. But now I've done it I want to do it again…

I've never had anyone to talk to about anything like this before. I know socially we're _supposed _to go slow. I've been talking to him for barely three days now I can't just jump into my deepest problems. The problem is that I _want _to. But I'll just scare him off…

"You know what?" He says after I've been silent for a few minutes, still nibbling on the sandwich. "Why don't I start?"

"Okay." I croak out, trying not to burst out into a rant about my life.

"As you know," he starts, "my parents are both dead. And most people know that I was raised by muggles, my aunt and uncle." I nod, knowing that. "What most people don't know is that my aunt and uncle are horrible people, and made me sleep in a cabinet beneath the stairs until I was eleven years old. They knew, but never told me that I was a wizard. I grew up wearing hand me downs from my massive cousin, who treats me like a punching bag, and I'm treated all around as a servant. Until 3rd year, they locked my school stuff up every summer so I couldn't study." I open my mouth to say something but can't. I had no idea.

Finally I say, "I-I had no idea." He smiles at me.

"Most people don't. This year I'm 17 though, so I'll be moving out as soon as this term is over." I'm quiet for a moment.

"My father raised me telling me that if I'm not perfect I'm a waste of space." I say finally. "I'd get beaten if I performed below his expectations." He's the first person I've ever told. He looks at me seriously.

"You know that isn't true, don't you Draco?" I look at him incredulously.

"You think I'm lying?" I get ready to stand up and storm out. Potter looks alarmed.

"No no no, Draco!" He says putting his hands on my shoulders and making me sit back down. He hands me another sandwich. "I meant it's not true that not being perfect means you're a waste of space."

"Oh…" I feel myself go red and look at my knees. "I feel like it is sometimes." I mumble.

"Well it isn't." I try to put the sandwich back on the plate but he doesn't let me. "No, Draco. Eat that." I shake my head. One's enough. "You don't have to starve yourself," he tells me seriously. "I don't care what your father says." I take a tiny bite off the top of the sandwich. "Can I ask how long you've been doing this? Or do you want to keep this conversation light?"

"Around two years…" I tell him slowly. Every conversation I ever get to have is superficial. I know he's supposed to be my enemy but god dammit I'm tired of small talk. "I don't really remember the first time I did it."

"Are you okay to talk about this?" He asks me cautiously. I nod. "How often?"

"It was only once every few weeks or so at first. Then every few days… whenever I was feeling down or felt like I needed to. Now… well…" In all honestly, the average is probably once or twice a day. I didn't think it was really a problem. I still don't. As long as I keep it under control…

"I don't think you realize how thin you are, Draco." I resist the urge to glare at him for lying to me.

"I'm not." I settle for saying.

"You are. I noticed the other night in the changing room." I blush at this thought. "Your ribs are starting to be a bit visible, and that's a problem. Eat that." He says again in reference to the sandwich that I've still barely nibbled on. I take another bite.

"I guess." I say shortly. I don't really believe him.

"You know there are people out there who will like you for who you really are. On the inside. And if those aren't the people you're hanging around with you should try to find some better friends."

"I don't have any friends. Not for real." I'm not giving him anything to work with, but to my amazement he doesn't seem to be getting impatient with me.

"I could be your friend." He says kindly, as if we've never met before in our lives. "I'd like to be, as a matter of fact." I look up at him a little desperately.

"_Why?" _I ask him, honestly unable to understand why anybody would want to be friends with someone as pathetic as I am. "The real me is absolutely pathetic." I feel myself begin to rant. "That's why I have to be perfect all the time. I have to be skinny, I have to be cold, I have to be sarcastic, and I have to be emotionless because goddamn it I'm a Malfoy and that's what's fucking expected of me. No one would respect me if I walked around hugging people and being nice. It doesn't matter who I am. People would run away screaming as soon as they found out about my neuroticism. Or my perversion…" I trail off.

"What would you rather have, Draco? Respect that you get from fear, or people who actually know you and care about you? If you don't let anyone get close, you're going to keep feeling alone." I open my mouth to retort but he cuts me off. "Don't tell me you aren't lonely, Draco." I close it again. Yeah. I'm alone. Because I'm not perfect enough. "Eat that." I take another bite of the sandwich.

"If I open myself up to people, I'll lose everything. I won't even have my fake friends anymore." Potter shakes his head.

"You can't know that, Draco." He tells me. "Have you ever tried." I sigh and shake my head, feeling tearful. "Have you ever wanted to? Or do you prefer to be private?" He means it as an honest question.

I think about it for a moment. I actually don't know, to be honest. I've always considered myself a private person but… I'm so tired of it.

"I… I don't want the world to know about me…" I say quietly. "But… I don't want no one to either… I don't want to feel like this anymore."

"Eat that. Do you mind me asking what you meant by perversion earlier?" I swallow the bite I just took and press my lips together. I look down at my lap, shamefully.

"I…" I don't even know how to say it. "I've never said it out loud."

"It's okay, Draco. I won't judge you." I close my eyes and shake my head, feeling the now too familiar sting of tears. He will. He'll be disgusted by me.

"You'll hate me…" I open my eyes and wipe at them.

"I doubt that." I start wringing my hands together.

"I… I like other… other blokes…" Potter looks at me for a second and laughs. Against my will I feel a few tears slide down. He's laughing at me.

"That's all?" He says. "You're gay?" I nod, trying not to burst into tears. He's going to leave now…

"That's okay, Draco." He tells me reassuringly with a smile. "There's nothing wrong with that!" I sniffle.

"Everyone in my family seems to think so." I croak.

"Well I can't tell you about your family our Slytherins, but trust me. There's nothing wrong with liking blokes. Not to me anyway. I'm gay too." This catches me off guard and I stop crying.

"R-really?" He nods with a smile.

"Relax, Draco. Eat that."

"I never knew…" He smiles.

"I've only been out a few months. It's nothing to feel guilty about, Draco. It's perfectly normal." I smile slightly, feeling a little bit better. I feel a wave of heat.

"Can I take my robe off?" I'm unsure of why I'm asking his permission.

"Of course you can." I slide it off, careful not to rub against my cuts. My slight happiness at my recent discovery dissolves into a feeling of hopelessness as I remember what I've done to myself. I'm again rushed with the desire to tell Potter about it.

"What's the matter?" He asks, seeing the look on my face. He hands me another sandwich which I bite into right away.

"I…" I sit back down. Should I tell him? "If I tell you something can you promise me that it won't scare you away?" I'm very serious about. "I-I just… I can be a little crazy sometimes."

"Go ahead and tell me whatever you want to, Draco." He seems pleased that I'm talking to him without prompting. I unbutton my shirt sleeve.

"I did something to myself last night." His expression turns serious and his eyes turn immediately to my wrists. "I'll just… I'll just show you." I pull my sleeve up. He gasps slightly at the sight but he doesn't look surprised. He reaches for my arm, and I hold it out to him. He grabs my hand. Ignoring the butterflies in my stomach I continue talking as he inspects the cuts. "I don't know why I did it… or I don't know why… why I started doing it… It just… happened… and… and I want to do it again…"

"Draco this is very serious." He tells me, gently. He sounds worried that I'll break. "Just as serious as an eating disorder." I pull back into myself, feeling ashamed. "I don't want you to do this again, can you understand me?" I feel my lip quiver.

"I don't… I don't know if I can promise that…" He looks me dead in the eye.

"Believe me, Draco. It's addictive." I look at him suspiciously.

"How would you know?" I ask almost accusingly. "I doubt many people are this crazy." He raises his eyebrows.

"You didn't get the idea from anywhere?" I shake my head, confused. "It's a common coping method among muggles…" He says slowly. "A bad one. And it is addictive." I can't help but feel a little shocked. Other people do this? "You've not been thinking about killing yourself have you?" I stop breathing.

"I have… before…" He looks at me sternly.

"Let me help you."

"I don't know if you can," I whisper. He ignores this.

"Eat that. I want you and I to keep talking," He tells me. "Is that alright with you?" I nod. I'd love that… "And next time you're feeling like hurting yourself, or like you have to make yourself sick, come find me, okay?"

"I can try…"

"You're not going to be alone anymore." I can't help it. I start crying. I don't know what's been getting into me.

"I don't want to be…" He gets up from his chair and sits beside me on mine, which grows magically to fit us both. He puts an arm around my shoulders.

"You won't have to be. I promise."

And we stay that that until the bell rings for class.


	6. Chapter 6

When I wake up the following day, the first thing I want to do is find Potter. I had a dream last night about the knife I used to cut myself, and I've been up for less than ten minutes and I already want to do it again. I feel nauseous as well, and its mornings like these which generally lead to me spending the entire day in bed. The prospect of dealing with anybody right now is actually a little bit terrifying. My recent bouts of crying have made me all and all paranoid about spending time around people.

I lie back down in my bed, pulling the sheets up over my face, and weigh my options. It's Saturday. I don't actually _have _to get out of bed today. My roommates have all left, probably for the day… I'm alone. The thought depresses me for some reason. I don't want to be alone. But I don't want to be around people either… My attention turns to the dormant knife laying patiently beside my bed.

I pull out a quill and parchment.

_Potter, _I scribble without thinking about it.

_It's Saturday today and to be honest I don't think I should spend it by myself. You told me to find you if I felt like hurting myself again and so far it's the only I've thought about this morning. You don't have to, but would you like to keep me company today? I'm sorry for asking… I'm sure you're busy with friends and whatnot. If you don't have the time for me, I will understand entirely._

_Draco. _

I send the message off with Lennon, my eagle owl, before I change my mind and then collapse back onto the bed. I pull the covers around me and curl into a rather comfortable position as a ball. I close my eyes and will myself not to start crying so early into the day. I've been doing it far too much lately and frankly, it's embarrassing.

Potter isn't going to answer me.

If, for some reason he decides I'm worth time out of his day to write me back, there isn't any way that he's going to find me important enough to sacrifice a day with friends. I'm a side project. I'm not a priority and I shouldn't let myself think that way. It will only get me hurt.

Without thinking, I pull the knife from the drawer. I know he said to come to him. I did. But this is pointless anyway because I'm just an inconvenience. I make a sizable slice across my right forearm. I'm disgusted with myself for sending that message. Who the hell do I think I am, trying to interrupt people's daily lives with my problems? If Potter wanted to be my friend, he doesn't anymore. He was supposed to come to me if he wanted to. Never am I supposed to approach people.

I make another gash below the first, and three more below that. Watching the blood relaxes me for a moment, before I burst into tears, and fall back into my pillow, burying myself. I've made him hate me…

A pecking at my window interrupts my self-hatred filled crying session and I sit up, bleary-eyed and look over the other side of the room. It's probably a message for Blaise. People are always writing him.

I stand, bare feet to the cold stone floor and hobble over to the window. I'm shocked to see that the owl at the window belongs to me, and that he has a piece of parchment tied to his leg. I take a deep, shaky breath, reminding myself that it could well be the message I sent out being returned, unanswered to my hands, and I open the window and allow Lennon inside. He flies across the room and lands on my bedpost. I stroke him, hands trembling, and untie the parchment from his leg.

My heart sinks as I recognize my own handwriting on its surface. I'm just about to toss it into the bin before an emerald coloured ink catches my eye on the reverse side. For a moment, I stop breathing. I flip the parchment over.

_Draco, _it reads,

_I'm sorry to hear that you seem to be having a difficult morning. Thank you for writing me, I hadn't expected you to take me to heart. Meet me at our usual spot as soon as you get this message. Bring the knife. _

_Harry_

My eyes read over the second line. _I hadn't expected you to take me to heart. _He hadn't wanted me to… I try to shake the idea. He seemed pleased enough that I wrote him. I pull my robe over my bleeding wrist and shove my feet into some shoes. I don't want him to think that I won't be coming.

I half walk, half jog down the hallway as I make my way toward Harry, with my knife bumping now again against my leg from inside my pocket. It's not until I'm nearly there that I realize how badly my wrist is bleeding, when I watch a few drops of blood hit the floor after dripping down my first two fingers. I frown and take up a handful of my sleeve in my fist, effectively directing the flow to my garment.

Harry and I reach the stretch of wall at the same time.

I suddenly realize that I have no idea what to say to him. He spares me the trouble.

"You've been crying." He tells me, looking concerned. He doesn't leave room for argument. I shrug, weakly as his eyes travel down to my hand, clutching my robe sleeve. "Christ, Draco." He mumbles beneath his breath. He paces across the wall stretch three times and I watch as the door reveals itself in the stone. "Come on," he tells me gently, while at the same time being firm. I allow him to leave me inside.

I'm surprised to find the room different upon entering. Instead of our usual fire and armchairs, there's a sink and some bandages over a tile floor. It's a bathroom, essentially, without the toilet and the shower. He leads me over to the counter. "Give me your arm," he tells me, and I hand it to him.

Potter rolls up my sleeve and winces at the sight. There are only five cuts, but they're deep, and still bleeding profusely. It's my turn to wince as Potter guides my wrist beneath the running faucet, and then I watch in fascination as the crimson liquid swirls down the drain in some sort of bloody tornado. Potter shakes his head.

When he's finished washing my cut, he reaches for a set of bandages sitting on the counter. They smell funny, so I assume that they're medicated. He dabs at my wrist with a towel – which stings deeply – to dry it, and then tightly wraps the bandages around my mutilated skin. It hurts. Badly.

When all is said and done he leads me out of the bathroom and into our newly formed lounge in front of the fire, sits me on the couch, and plops down beside me. He puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to him. I rest my head on his shirt sleeve and bit at my quivering lip.

This morning has been absolutely horrible.


	7. Chapter 7

Potter and I sit across the fire for a long time, without saying anything. There isn't anything to say.

There's something oddly comforting about the silence. His presence is strong, his arm heavy across my shoulders, his breath gently blowing back my hair every now and again when he turns his head to look at me. Against my better judgment, I snuggle closer to Potter and lean completely against his shoulder, allowing him to support me. He doesn't resist, but pulls me closer. I sniffle.

I'm hungry, but I won't say so. Whatever I eat now I will probably just throw up again later, and have one more reason for Potter to be disappointed in me. I want to apologize to him but I can't summon the words.

"Potter…" I start falsely. "I…" I what? I don't know. I watch as he chews nervously on his lip before he responds to a sentence that I haven't even fully formed.

"Call me Harry." He says after a moment. "I've been calling you by your first name and I see no reason why you shouldn't call me by mine. I would like to really be close to you, Draco, and that can't happen if you distance yourself from me." I just nod, not knowing how to tell him that he's already closer to me now than anybody ever has been.

"Harry." I say quietly. I'm hit with another sudden urge to cry and this time I have absolutely no idea as to why. I find myself trying to get even closer. "I still want to do it." I whisper.

"Do what?" Harry asks me, concerned. "Cut? Throw up?" I nod. "What does that mean?" He asks me.

"Both," I answer softly. "I know you're disappointed in me…" Harry takes his arm off my shoulders and sits me up to look at him. I wish he hadn't. I felt comfortable where I was.

"Draco," He tells me firmly, "I want you to listen to me. I am not disappointed in you. I could never expect you to just pull yourself together in a day, or even a month for that matter. This is going to take time. I just need to know that you're trying. The fact that you even wrote me today says a lot to me." I reach for my bandages and rub them a bit.

"I failed…" I say, averting my eyes from his gaze. "I cut myself…" Potter doesn't say anything, but just stares at me, and I feel his bright green eyes boring hard into my own. He shakes his head, slowly.

"No," he answers me softly. "You're just broken." A tear escapes down my cheek because I know that he's right.

"What if I can't be fixed?" I ask, scared.

"You can," he whispers, and I can feel his breath moving closer to my face. His lips part, ever so slightly, showing me the top row of his teeth. One tooth sticks out, only slightly longer than the rest. His lips are pink, but not too pink; the pale colour of a new-born piglet laying in the sun.

And then, before I'm able to register what's happened, those lips are touching mine. And it seems so absolutely stupid, but all I can think of is that I wish I'd bushed my teeth this morning. And then it's over. I missed it.

Potter pulls back, looking surprised at his own action.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammers, "I…" I suddenly feel the urge to comfort _him. _

"No no no… shh." I put a finger on his lips. "Don't apologize. Just…" I was going to say just do it again but… what if he doesn't want to?

"Just what….?" He seems hesitant, bashful. I shake my head. "Tell me please…" I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and speak the words before I can change my mind.

"Just do it again." I say. "Please, just do it again."

**Sorry about the short Chapter guys. I promise lots of good stuff in the next one.**


	8. Chapter 8

**LEMON WARNING. Sorry I took so long to update, guys. I lost my feel for the story for a while. But here I am. Enjoy, and please REVIEW. **

I close my eyes as Harry's face approaches mine for a second time, and this time I pay attention to the sensation of his lips. They're soft, and gentle, taking my lower lip between them slowly and sensually – with feeling. It's so unlike Pansy, who has only ever attacked by mouth with a sexual force that makes me feel like an object, rather than a lover. I wrap my arms around Harry's neck, urging him to deepen the kiss. My cuts sting beneath my bandages and I feel another tear escape down my cheek.

Without breaking the kiss, Harry reaches his hand up, wiping the tear from my face. His long, slender fingers then slide upward and entangle themselves in my hair. Suddenly turned on, I bite his lower lip, gently; pulling it off his teeth. I release my bite and continue to suck on his lip for moment before release it. I wait for his response. Harry takes in a deep, shuddering breath and reaches his other hand around to grab to butt. Again, he is sensual, not violent. I want him to keep going.

I free myself from the kiss and slide my lips across his skin over to the side of his face. I breathe softly into his ear and take his earlobe lightly between my teeth, rub my tongue across it, and release it. I place a kiss on his neck and allow my shaking hands to grip at the muggle t-shirt that he's wearing. A Beatles shirt. It's the first I've noticed of it but I find it to be incredibly sexy.

Harry moves both his hands up and down the curve of my body, and begins to fondle with the buttons on my shirt. My breathe pauses for a moment, and I almost stop him in fear of him seeing my body. I feel myself shaking slightly, but try to distract myself by slowly removing his t-shirt. He allows to me to take it off with ease. He approaches my last buttons.

"This shirt is too big for you, Draco." He breathes. I shake my head at the lie, and blink back tears. He slides the shirt of my shoulders and I freeze. What will he think? I don't move as the now shirtless Harry plants a kiss on my collarbone. He applies slight suction and begins to move slowly down my chest. As he reaches my stomach, I relax. The tears that had been welling up roll down face, but no more follow. I don't bother to wipe them away.

I regain motion of my hands and run my fingers through Harry's hair as his lips approach the waist of my trousers. He unbuttons them and then places his tongue at my waistband and runs it up my stomach. He plants his teeth on my neck. I shudder at his tease and place my hands on his shockingly toned chest. I push him backwards onto the bed that had materialized unnoticed during our activity. I straddle him, rubbing his chest up and down, biting at his lip as I do so. I unbutton him, and feel around his lower region from the outside. I then release his package and rub my hand slowly up and down his thighs, and in the crevices of his legs, as payback for his tease. I bite his neck and then his earlobe.

Harry lets out a moan and in a single, fluid motion flips me onto my back and kisses me roughly. He bites my lip and even my tongue while reaching down to free my now very hard member from my trousers. I reach down and ease them off. Harry breaks the kiss and again makes a trail down my stomach, stopping just a few inches short of my genitalia. He grips my balls with his hand, and, using the just the right amount of pressure, massages them as he rubs up and down on my shaft with his other hand. Slowly, he protrudes his tongue, and places it at the base of my penis. He traces the base for a few moments before licking the shaft, moving up to the head. Finally, he slides the head into his mouth. I let out in involuntary moan.

As he rotates my penis around his mouth like lollipop, I reach down to his unbuttoned trousers and start to slide them off. He repositions himself so that I am able to do this easily, and kisses up my chest again. He begins placing hickies on my neck. He's wearing a pair of red boxers that I can see are already wet with anticipation. His member is poking of the hole in the front, and I am ashamed to see that he is much bigger than I am. I remove his pants and expose his package. I reach for it tentatively. I've never actually pleasured another man before and I'm not exactly sure what to do. I cup his balls in my hand and massage them as he had. He lets out a moan. I release his balls and massage his shaft for a moment as well, and then move around to feel his back side.

I've never felt anything as magnificent as Harry's arse. It is toned, shaped, supple, and just absolutely wonderful. I feel around with both hands for a little and even venture as far as to slide a finger along the crevice between each check. I rub his entire body down before returning to his package. He lies down on top of me and grinds himself against my own genitals for moment and I am shocked to discover how good this feels. I buck my hips in the rhythm.

"Do you want to do this?" He whispers in my ear. I stop to think for a moment. I look into his bright, emerald green eyes and see legitimate concern expressed there. I nod, slowly.

"You'll be the first…" I answer with caution. He looks at me seriously.

"You don't have to if you don't think you're ready." I stare back into his eyes.

"Do you promise that this won't be a one-time thing? You'll stay with me?" Suddenly the world crashes down on top of me. What the hell was I thinking? Of course he's not going to stay with me. We were never together to begin with. How stupid can I be, making it sound like we were some kind of couple? Harry moves slowly over to my ear.

"I promise." He whispers. "I want you to be mine, Draco."

"Y-yours?" I stammer. I don't know what he means.

"Will you, Draco Malfoy, do me the honor of being my one and only boyfriend?" I stop breathing for a second. Me? He wants me?

"I – yes!" I answer desperately. "Yes of course!" He kisses my lips tenderly and I allow my hands to liberally explore every facet of his body. "I want you to do this," I tell him.

"Are you sure, Draco?" You're sure this is okay? I nod, vigorously.

"Yes! Yes, it's okay. I trust you." He nods once.

"Alright." He turns me over gently and begins to rub my buttocks with the perfect amount of pressure. He massages them for a while with both hands before exploring the crevice with his four fingers. I hear him whisper an incantation and feel a warm sensation on the inside and assume it's some sort of cleaning charm. I worriedly wonder how many times he has done this before. He rubs his fingers up and down the crevice a few times and then slowly inserts his pinky finger. It doesn't hurt and I moan in surprise and satisfaction at the sensation I get as he rotates it around inside. He then slowly inserts another finger and repeats the process and continues this to my enjoyment until it has been sufficiently stretched.

I hold my breath in anticipation and let it out in a moan as Harry slowly eases himself into me. It smarts for a moment, and I feel friction for the first thrust or two, but as he continues to push himself in an out the experience becomes pleasurable. His penis pushes itself up against my prostate, every thrust increasing the sensation and sending shudders through my spine.

It takes a relatively short time for me to reach my climax, and Harry finishes shortly afterwards. I roll over and he lies beside me, both of us gasping desperately for breath. My anus is sore, but not horribly. I am blushing profusely and not sure about looking Harry in the eye. I settle for cuddling up against him instead, burying my face in his chest. He wraps an arm around me and holds me tightly.

The words in my throat are "I love you," but I don't yet allow myself to say it out loud. I want Harry to stick around, and even I know that it's too early to say such things. He doesn't need to know just how much I really need him. He doesn't need to know that by finishing inside of me, he just took my life into his hands. No. Knowing that will scare him away. I'll stay quiet for now, and wait for him to figure it out. That way I'll keep him for just a little bit longer. I'll stay alive for just a bit more.

And then, when he finally finds out and then backs away, I can die at least knowing that at one point I was loved.

This time I allow the tears to come freely as I bury my face deeply into Harry's chest. I allow him to hold me and I don't hide my body from his gaze. I let myself relax fully into his grasp.

"Shh…" He hushes me softly. "Shh, it's alright." I pull my bandaged arms up against my body. No. No, it isn't alright. It's not alright because I know and he knows and everyone knows that this moment will have to end.

"It's gonna end." I choke into his body. "It's gonna stop it's gonna be over!" I scream at myself inwardly for voicing such pathetic fears. You want to keep around, remember?

"Hush, now." Harry says gently, pulling me closer. "Nothing is ending. It's only the beginning for us, Draco. We're only just starting out." I sniff and let out another shuddering sob. I start to become aware of my body and its current exposure.

"I need to get dressed now," I whisper. Harry nods in understanding.

"Alright. But let's get some clothes on you that aren't all bloodied, alright?" I sniff.

"Okay." A drawer appears in the corner and Harry grabs me by the hand and leads me to it. I open it and find it to be full of muggle clothes. I suppose it is Saturday. I don't have to wear my uniform _all _the time. I pull out a pair of jeans and a nice, pale blue shirt which I am relieved to find has long sleeves. I pull it on over my bandages and frown. It's too tight. "This is too small," I tell Harry. "Tell the room to get me something bigger." Harry shakes his head.

"No, Draco. That shirt fits you perfectly. You've got to stop with the baggy clothing. You need to be gaining weight, not losing it." I shake my head violently.

"No." I answer. "No, that isn't true, don't lie!" Harry crosses the room and hugs me.

"I'm not lying to, Draco." He pulls me to him and places my face in his shoulder and he holds me there until he senses that I've calmed down. Though still uncomfortable with the tightness of my shirt, I stop arguing and we watch as the bed disappears and our study reassembles itself. I sit down and look disgustedly at the plate of sandwiches that materialize. I'm not eating. "Please, Draco." I hear Harry say. "You haven't eaten today." I shake my head.

"I'll just throw it up later and you know that." Harry sighs.

"It's going to be hard to get better if you refuse to try, Draco." He says it gently and I try not to let myself believe he's losing patience with me already. He's right. I need to at least try. I pick up one sandwich and give him a pointed look that means clearly this is all I'm having. He seems to accept. I take a small bite as he picks one up himself.

"I'm sorry I'm so crazy." I tell him quietly. He shakes his head.

"Don't. Just eat that, alright? And then we'll go for a walk. There's no reason we should stay cooped up in this room all day." I pause for a moment because I know that means we'll have to go together in public. "We don't have to hold hands or announce anything to the world, yet." He tells me. "Just for a walk. If anyone asks, we've simply grown up and are trying to get to know each other."

"What about the Slytherins?" I ask him worriedly.

"Well," he answers slowly, "if they disown you the Gryffindors will be glad to have you. But I guess I won't force you to do anything you aren't ready for. But you're not leaving my sight today, I hope you understand that." I do understand that, and I don't blame him for it either. I think it over.

"Well, I guess a walk would be nice. We can talk." Harry smiles at me.

"Yeah. Yeah, we can."

He stands up and helps me to my feet. I take a deep, steadying breath, and together, we step beyond the confines of our private place.


	9. Chapter 9

As Harry and I leave the room of requirement, I feel myself shaking. Out here, in the open, I feel vulnerable to attack by anybody who feels the desire to hurt me. While Harry is here to protect me, he can't hold my hand or hug me or tell me that everything is going to be okay and suddenly I find myself just wishing that we were alone again. He seems to sense my anxiety and puts his hand on my shoulder like he did the night he found me in the bathroom.

"It's alright, Draco. You're okay." I take a deep breath and wave of nausea overcomes me.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," I breath out. He rubs my shoulder.

"You're alright." I shake my head.

"No, I mean it. I think I'm going to be sick." I turn and rush toward the bathroom and Harry follows me, hurriedly. I run into a stall and make it just in time as the sandwich I just ate presents itself for a second time. I feel Harry rubbing my back as I wretch, and wish that he wouldn't but can't articulate myself otherwise. I lean over the bowl, gasping, and stand up when I feel confident that there isn't anymore. I don't have my bag with me so I rinse my mouth out with water as Harry watches me worriedly from a few feet away.

When I finish, I walk back over to Harry, slowly, worried that he'll somehow think that I did it on purpose. He doesn't seem angry, though, only worried, and pulls me into his arms as I approach him. I sniff.

"I told you I couldn't eat." I mumble into his shoulder. I feel him wince and regret saying it. Harry sighs.

"We'll try again later." I open my mouth to protest but he doesn't let me. "We're going to try again, later, Draco. You're not going to bed tonight without getting some decent food into your system. I think you're anxious about everything that's gone on today, and it made you sick. When you calm down and we're away from all this stimulation, we're going to try again." I chew on my lip. "I'm going to eat too, Draco," He tells me, "I'm not just going to stare at you as you do." I nod into his shirt, grateful that he's making an effort to avoid making me uncomfortable.

"Let's go for that walk now," I request, quietly. "Maybe it will settle my stomach." He nods, gently.

"Alright, Draco. Let's go." As we exit the bathroom, I walk close enough to him that our shoulders touch. If I'm completely honest with myself, I want to be holding on to him, but I don't want to disgrace his image with that kind of company. Reminding myself of this, I step a little further away.

The weather outside is nice today, if a little cold, so there aren't many people in the castle halls. As we approach the front door, I find myself growing more and more nervous. If there's no one in here, then that means that a lot of people are out there.

We reach the castle doors and Harry pushes them open. As I expected, it seems that most of Hogwarts are chilling out by the lake, seeming not at all bothered by the chill. I stop walking.

"Are you alright?" Harry asks me. I have to think about it. Am I okay? I shake my head. "Do you want to go back inside?" I take a deep breath.

"No," I tell him, "let's walk." He regards me cautiously.

"Alright." I follow him, probably closer than I should, out toward the partially frozen lake and try to ignore the stares that I know we are already receiving. The thing is, it's not that I'm embarrassed of being seen with him. I don't want to embarrass him by being seen with _me. _And to be honest, I don't like the attention I'm getting because it makes it more likely that someone will turn around and make some sort of jab at me, and I truthfully don't think that I could take that right now.

We make it halfway around the lake before either of us says anything, which I feel guilty for because I said I wanted to come out here so that we could talk.

"You don't think I rushed you too quickly into a relationship, do you?" He asks me worriedly. I shake my head, answering him quickly.

"No, no. Not at all." I tell him. "I'm happy for it, I really am. I've just… I've never been in a real one before… I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do." He smiles, looking a little bit relieved.

"Well that's easy, Draco. We just take things naturally, as they come. When you're ready to be public, we'll be public, and until then we'll be discreet. Being together means that we rely on each other, trust each other, and take care of each other. You know," he adds, "with the occasional fun added in." I laugh, relaxing a little, and let myself smile for once.

"Alright. But… I'll probably need you a lot more than you need me…" I say slowly, hoping that won't be a problem. He smiles warmly.

"That's fine, Draco." Feeling content for the first time in a while, I close my eyes against the wind and just feel the air against my skin. I've never done this before, just walked around with a friend. _Or boyfriend_ I think to myself, blushing.

By the time we make a complete revolution around the lake, I've relaxed considerably. I'm starting to feel like I might be okay and even (though I won't tell Harry this) a little bit hungry. I feel like I belong here, and I start to wonder if maybe Harry isn't embarrassed by me after all. He doesn't seem at all bothered by the looks we've gotten thus far, and has actually gotten closer to me as we've walked on. After a little while of comfortable silence, Harry speaks.

"I want you to meet my friends, Draco," he tells me. My breath catches in my throat. Harry's friends are Gyffindors.

"I-I don't know…" I answer slowly. He looks at me calmly.

"They won't be mean to you, Draco, I promise. And we don't have to tell them we're together if you don't want to." I think it over for a moment.

"You promise they won't be mean to me?" I ask, wincing at the fact that I sound like a child. "Because I don't think I can handle that sort of thing right now…" He puts a hand on my shoulder and then takes it off because we're not supposed to be public. I wish he'd put it back.

"I promise, Draco. I won't let anybody hurt you." I chew on my bottom lip.

"Well… alright." He smiles.

"I'm so glad, Dray. You need to be part of a group." Seeing my look he adds, "They don't need to know anything you don't want them too." I nod.

"Are we going to meet them now?" I ask, tentatively, not sure what I want the answer to be.

"They're sitting over under that tree," he answers affirmatively. I take a deep breath. I've been feeling good this last hour; I'm not going to fall apart now. I allow him to lead me over to a group a people who are sitting under a tree and talking. I recognize all of them: Weasley, Granger, Thomas, Finnegan, and Longbottom.

They all stop talking as we approach, and turn to stare at me. I step slightly behind Harry as if trying to hide behind him.

"Hey, guys," Harry tells them as we approach, "you all know Draco." I close my eyes. This can't end well.

"Uhm… yeah…" I hear one of them respond. "What exactly are doing with him?"

"Well, you know how we've been civil the last two years, and we've finally decided there's no reason we can't get to know each other a bit." I open my eyes, wincing, preparing for the attack that's sure to come. I've never felt so uncomfortable in my entire life. All five of them appear more shocked than angry. They all look at me. I chew on my lower lip and nod, in an attempt to answer the question they seem to be asking me.

"So why is he here, again?" asks Finnegan. "Just because you've decided to put up with him doesn't mean we have to." This was a terrible idea. Granger glares at the Irish boy.

"Stop it, Seamus," she says reproachfully. "If he's here clearly he wants to make amends to us, as well, and we should respect him for that." Finnegan grumbles something but doesn't actually say anything else.

"I can just go," I say quietly. Harry looks at me.

"No, you don't need to go anywhere."

"Yeah," Granger says, "come sit down." Harry sits and invites me down. I do so, and sit as close to him as possible.

"Draco," Harry says to me, "You know Hermione, Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville." They all (Finnegan grudgingly) give me a wave and an awkward greeting. We sit in silence for a while.

"So…" Weasley asks after a moment, obviously trying to break the tension. "How did this start?" He gestures between the two of us. I blush, and remember that we don't have to tell them anything. But, also remembering that Harry said I need to start trusting people if I'm going to get better, I settle for saying:

"Harry's helping me through some stuff right now." I gauge their reactions closely, ready for any sign that I'm about to be laughed at. They all seem to accept this, however, and Granger even has the decency to look concerned. Some of the tension in my body starts to release as I realise that they aren't about to attack me. I subconsciously thumb at my wrist, over my bandages. I think Granger notices this but she doesn't say anything.

"I think we all know that the Slytherins are a bunch of arseholes," Harry says further, "and Draco doesn't like to be around them and I don't think any of us can blame him for that." There's a general sound of agreement among them. This is followed by another awkward silence.

"So, Draco," Thomas finally speaks up, "What kind of stuff really goes down in the Slytherin common room?" I notice his use of my name with a shock, and smile a little bit as I realize that he's holding Finnegan's hand. Maybe I do stand a chance at acceptance here.

"Well," I answer slowly, "it's completely boring, really. Everyone is all prim and proper all the time… and you can't leave your stuff around because people are always stealing it. And it's bloody cold, all the time. You'd think it was some kind of lair down there." With that, the tension seems to break and conversation starts to flow naturally. I even begin to enjoy myself after a while.

We talk for around an hour about various subjects, and I catch myself laughing for who knows what time today. I'm actually starting to feel truly happy when Weasley suggests we go upstairs and get some lunch. Suddenly, I feel like all the air has been let out of me.

"Why don't you come and join us, Draco?" Longbottom asks.

"I-"

"Yeah, Draco, come on," Harry says, and I realize that I won't get out of this.

"Alright," I answer quietly, resisting the tears that are threatening well up. I follow them silently up to the castle. _You can do this,_ I tell myself, _it's just lunch. _I feel Harry put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

When we reach the Great Hall, I have to resist the urge to turn around and run. I sit, tentatively, at the Gryffindor table, across from the others, and start to put on my plate the gentlest foods I can find. _Don't be nervous,_ I tell myself, _that's what got you sick this morning. You're not fat, and no one is going to judge you. _I take a deep breath and nearly jump out of my skin when Harry grabs my hand beneath the table. His presence gives me a new resolve.

I take a bite, and let myself join in on the conversation, just as if I belong there.


	10. Chapter 10

**THE SEMESTER IS OVER! I HAVE TIME TO WRITE AGAIN! **

**REVIEW PLEASE!**

After lunch with the Gryffindors, I follow Harry upstairs to Gryffindor tower so he can get his broom. During the meal, Weasley had suggested going out to the pitch, and I agreed (tenetively) to come along. I close my eyes as I stand in Harry's room, taking deep, heavy breaths in an effort to calm myself down. Even still, my hands are shaking. Though lunch went well, I'm growing pretty certain that I've begun to overstay my welcome. This scares me for two reasons. One, because I don't want to be rejected by Harry's friends, seeing as they have so far been the only people to be nice to me or accept me around as someone other than my reputation suggests. And two, because the Slytherin's noticed my interactions with the Gryffindors today and I'm not looking forward to being face to face with my housemates again.

I open my eyes and look around. The Gryffindor's dorms are much cozier than the rooms down in the dungeons. It's not as cold, and the colour scheme is warm and inviting. It's gloriously messy, which is a nice change from the generally pristine condition of the Slytherin dorm rooms. I thumb at the bandages on my wrist again, thankful that Granger isn't here to examine me with that scrutinizing stare of hers.

After a quick look around I avert my eyes toward the floor. Finnegan is glaring at me.

"Does he have to be in here?" He complains loudly to Harry, in a tone that suggests I'm not even here. "This is the Gryffindor commons, if you don't recall, Harry." Harry, seeming patient yet angry, replies,

"Seamus, he doesn't know the password, and there's no rule against him coming to visit. You're being rude. He's been nice to you all day." He casts another look in my direction.

"Well, sure he has. But I think it's too much to have him in the damn room. I don't trust him." As the two squabble, I start to slowly make my way toward the door.

"I agree with Harry." I hear Weasley adding as I manage to slowly sneak out of the room, unnoticed. I knew this was a bad idea. I wrap my arms around myself as I hurry down the spiral staircase that leads to the common room, tears welling up in my eyes that I'm sure to quickly wipe away. I just need to get out of here as fast as possible. That way I can avoid being seen by any other Gryffindors and we can pretend that this never even happened.

I reach the bottom of the stair case and start to blindly rush through the common room, which appears to be empty. I'm only a few feet short of the portrait hole when someone grabs my wrist and I yell out in pain. I wheel around.

Granger, a large book in one hand and my wrist in the other is standing by an armchair with an expression on her face that suggests suspicion. At first, I think this suspicion is because of my being in the Gryffindor commons, but then she speaks.

"Where are you going? I thought you guys were going out to the Quidditch pitch?" I try to pull out of her grasp but wince in pain when she tightens her grip. I bite my bottom lip and stare at the floor.

"They don't want me in there." I mumble before I can stop myself. "I'm leaving." She doesn't loosen her grasp. "Let go of me." I say to her, wincing again. She glances down at my arm and frowns before looking back up at me with concern.

"What makes you think they don't want you, Draco?" She asks me slowly. I look around the common room. We're alone.

"I don't know!" I snap, getting angry and again trying to release myself. "Maybe it's just Finnegan bitching about me like I'm not even in the room! Let me go!" She lets go of me and I pull my arm back, rubbing my wrist tenderly and shaking as I look at her. "It's fine!" I spit out. "I don't even care. I'll just go back to my room where I belong!" Despite my angry tone, tears are starting to sting at my eyes and I know, with a fear, that I'm about to lose my composure. Granger comes closer to me and I wince, expecting her to grab me again. Instead she puts a hand on my shoulder and looks up into my eyes.

"Come sit down, Draco." I shake my head, still glaring at her but internally focused on getting myself out before I lose it. I knew it was a bad idea to let Harry take me out in public.

"No." I tell her. "It's fine. I'm just gonna go." She puts a little force on me and pushes me toward the armchair.

"I don't think so. Harry wouldn't like that." I scoff.

"Harry doesn't even notice I've gone. What difference does it make?" Granger sighs.

"When Harry's angry, he gets tunnel vision. He'll realize in a moment now, and as his friend, I know he wouldn't be happy if I let you go, nor do I think it would be good idea to leave you to yourself. Do you?" I don't like the implications of this and I shy away from her. I can't believe it. Harry's actually told her.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He lied to me. Granger looks at me patiently.

"Then why don't you sit down by the fire, roll up those sleeves, and relax a little bit?" I glare at her.

"Because I can't relax in a place like this." Granger sighs.

"Draco," she stops mid-sentence as we both hear footsteps tumbling down the stairs and a moment later Harry rushes in.

"What do you think you doing?" He snaps at me frantically. "Why would you just run out like that?!"

I stand up, fists clenching, throat tight.

"You lied to me!" My breath shakes as I try to catch it. "You told her!" I feel my lower lip tremble and I wipe at my eyes before the tears escape.

"What are you talking about?" Harry sounds angry, but also confused. I stamp my foot like a child.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!" I choke out. "You promised no one had to know anything until _I_ decided and then you go and tell her all about how I cut myself!" I'm starting to cry now. "You promised!"

"Draco, I swear, I didn't tell her anything." I sit down and bury my face into my arms.

"Draco, he really didn't…" I hear Granger tell me from inside the darkness. "Harry has told me absolutely nothing. I found because of the way you've been rubbing at your wrist and the way you flinched when I grabbed your arm today. Plus you'd told us that Harry was helping you through some stuff. I promise you, Draco. Harry hasn't betrayed you." Her tone is gentle and cautious. "I wasn't even sure you had been cutting yourself. I was only suspicious." I look out from inside arms and see their faces staring in at me.

"You're not supposed to know." I stammer. "Who else knows?" She bends down so that we're at eye level and talks to me calmly.

"No one else knows," she tells me. "Except perhaps Ron, because we recognize the signs. But between you at me, Ron can be kind of oblivious sometimes." I sniff and rub at my face.

"What do you mean signs?" I ask her. Granger frowns.

"The signs that someone's been hurting themselves. You don't spend a lot of time around people. I guess you'd be surprised that it's something that a lot of people struggle with."

"Harry told me." I answer quietly. Their two on one confrontation is making me feel cornered. I hide behind my arms again. "I'm sorry I'm ruining your day," I whisper. "You can go play Quidditch if you want."

"Draco, stop it," Harry tells me as he pulls my arms away from my face. "You're not ruining anyone's day. We just want you to be alright." I also burst into hysterics, screaming about how I'm not alright and I'll never be alright and they're just wasting their lives on me. I bite my tongue though, and even manage not to cry.

"I'm fine." I push out, before closing my mouth tightly. Harry sighs.

"Look, Draco. Seamus can be an arse sometimes. Hell, he was an arse to me are entire fifth year. But he'll get over it. He just likes being dramatic. Everyone else wants you along." I shake my head.

"You're just saying that." I answer him quietly. "Just like you said about my weight." Granger's look of confusion at this comment at least confirms her story that Harry hadn't actually told her a thing.

More footprints sound from the staircase and we all turn. What we see emerging is none other than Finnegan, followed closely by Weasley, who still looks angry.

"I don't care whether or not you trust him," he's saying. "You've got to leave him alone!"

"Or what?" I hear Seamus scoff.

"Or," Ron stops dead, noticing the rest of us in the common room. I hide my face again.

"What the bloody hell is going on now?" I hear Finnegan snap. I thought he left?" I don't look up at him, and bite harder on my lip because now that Granger's seen me cry on top of Harry I don't want to add Weasley and this bastard to the list. Everyone is crowding around me and I feel like some sort of animal on display.

"Is he okay?" I hear Weasley direct at Harry. No. No, I'm fucking not; I'm having a breakdown, and please, for the love of god, just leave me the fuck alone. Why did I let Harry talk me into doing this?

"Oh for god's sake!" I hear Finnegan's accent exclaim. "Or what, Ron? His entire world will fall apart because I'm not nice to him?" Anger starts to build inside of me. "This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about here." He's right. This _is _Draco Malfoy they were talking about. Why the fuck should any of them care about me? "If you want to hang around him, fine. But please just keep him away from my stuff." I snap.

"You know what, Finnegan, fuck you!" I shout, standing up from the chair so I at least feel equal to everyone else in the room. "You want to know what's going on? It really bothers you that much that I'm trying to make peace with some people without knowing exactly why? I'll show you why!" I yank up my shirt sleeve and shove my arm (which is freshly bleeding thanks to Granger's grabbing of me earlier) right in his face. "When I said that Harry has been helping me through stuff I fucking meant it. I don't know how the hell these two found out but I'm guessing that's why they've been trying to get you to leave me the fuck alone. I don't need this shit from you when the _rest _of you Gryffindors are the only ones that have given me any sort of chance to relax!"

Finnegan just stands there, dumbfounded, staring at my bloody arm. Everyone around me stands in dead silence, with Weasley and Granger looking gravely at my arm and Harry with his eyes closed looking as though he wants to be anywhere but here.

"I…" He tries to respond, "I didn't know."

"Of bloody course you didn't know." I answer him. "But you know what?" I ask him in a shaky voice. "It shouldn't matter. What should matter is that I took an effort in fixing my relationship with you guys. Not my name. But that's all anybody fucking cares about." I wipe newly resurfaced tears from my eyes, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Eyes on all sides are glaring at Finnegan.

"I'm sorry." Is all he says before turning around and walking back upstairs. Harry puts a hand on my shoulder and I wish that I could just fall into him and hug him, but I remember that we're not yet public with our relationship. After Finnegan has been gone for a moment I take a deep breath and turn toward the portrait hole.

"I'm going to go ahead and leave you guys alone now. I've already caused you too much trouble today." I tell them in a flat voice.

"I don't think so, mate." Weasley answers. "You me and Harry are going out to the pitch, remember?"

"Thanks," I respond quietly, "but you don't have to take me on as your charity case. I appreciate that you're trying to include me but you really don't have to. I'll be fine – really" Weasley gives me a look.

"Stop it, Draco. You're coming. You can show us some of Slytherin's dirty tricks." I can't help but smile a little at this.

"Come on, Dray," Harry says. "It's alright."

"I don't have my broom," I reply.

"We'll go get it." He turns to Granger. "Are you coming Hermione? I know you hate flying." Granger shrugs.

"I'll bring a book and sit in the stands. The weather is nice today at least." We all nod in agreement; while inwardly my stomach is churning at the idea of going into the Slytherin commons.

"Well, come on." Says Ron, "I'm itching to get out there." I blindly lead the way toward the dungeons, reminding myself that there's a decent chance that no one will even be there.

When we arrive at the entrance to the Slytherin common room, however, I find that I'm out of luck. A group of younger Slytherins snigger, leaving as I enter, at the sight of 3 Gryffindors, including Harry Potter, waiting for me. Knowing better than to try inviting them inside, and still embarrassed about the earlier events of the day, I venture in alone. When I find the common room empty, I gain hope that the dorm, too, will be vacant.

It isn't.

The first thing I see when I open the door is Blaise, dictating an essay to quick-quotes quill in the corner. He's playing with a snitch while he does so. I don't know where he got it, because he isn't even on the team.

"Hey, there, traitor." He says to me as I walk through the doorway. I ignore him and approach my bed, under which my broom is stored. "Have fun with the Gryffindors today?"

"There's nothing wrong with being friendly with people, Blaise." I hear him scoff but don't look at him. I crouch down and reach underneath, feeling for my broom.

"Yeah well I don't want anything to do with it." He says, suddenly hostile. "Unlike you, I actually care about my family's integrity and I don't want you around messing it up." I growl, grabbing my broom, and pulling it out. I stand up and glare in his direction.

"You're a fucking prick, you know that, Blaise. Grow up." He raises his eyebrows at me.

"Have you been crying, Malfoy?"

"Fuck you." I turn away from him.

"You've been bloody crying, haven't you? Dear old dad must be _so _proud of you," he teases. "What's the matter, get into a fight with the Gryffindors? Don't they want you?" No. No they don't want me. Finnegan doesn't anyway.

"Fuck off, Blaise." I close my eyes, my back still turned to him. "I don't bloody need this from you."

"Just stay away from me, you fucking blood-traitor."

"Done." I answer shortly, leaving promptly.

I hurry through the common room and back outside. While shaken by Blaise's teasing, I'd expected worse, and overall, I'm alright. Harry, Weasley and Granger are still waiting for me outside and I follow them quietly out to the pitch, still not sure that I actually belong with them.

We fly around for a while and feel myself start to relax, focusing on the sensation of the cold wind blowing around my body, pushing my hair askew and turning my cheeks and nose red. Harry and Weasley are over practicing Quidditch drills, but I hang back and instead fly around in circles, and for a few moments I just practice diving, to see what it would feel like to really fall, but Harry notices this and after he shoots me a very sharp look I knock it off, worried that he'd do something like take my broom away from me.

Eventually, it gets too cold to stay outside, so we touch down and I follow Harry into one of the changing tents so he can change. (He'd changed into looser fitting clothing, and I hadn't bothered.) I sit on one of the benches with Weasley, who's panting and probably wishing that he'd brought Quidditch clothes along too.

Harry's just done changing when Theodore struts in with a sixth year I don't know. They have their brooms so I assume they're doing precisely what we'd had in mind.

"Oh, lookie here. Sorry, Theodore. I guess this tent needs extermination." He looks around and notices me. "The fuck are you doing here, Malfoy? Oh, right. Blaise told me you'd gone insane and started hanging out with these losers now. How's it feel to be one, huh? Fucking traitor."

"Piss off, Nott." Weasley spits, standing up. "Come on, Draco. Harry." Harry glares silently at Nott as we walk past him.

"Just a hint of advice, Malfoy," Theodore calls in my direction as we leave. "Muggle clothes don't suit that fat ass of yours!"

I freeze. How much did I eat today?


	11. Chapter 11

"Draco…" I hear Harry speak to me gently. "Draco, don't listen to him. He's just an arse he… he didn't… Draco, it isn't true." I close my eyes and try to take a deep breath, but all it does is catch in my throat. I start to feel the overwhelming sensation of panic take over my body. I feel sick. "Draco…" Before Harry has the chance to say anything else, I turn away and rush off toward the castle, running as fast as I can. I drop my broom in the process, regretting it the moment I do. I can hear Harry yelling after me but I ignore him.

I feel for my wand in my robe pocket and realize with dismay that I left it in my bag back in Harry's room. I don't have it, and I don't have long before Harry catches up with me. I reach the castle doors and pull them open with as much force as I can muster. I hear them slam against the stone walls outside but I'm already halfway down the corridor by the time they do. I'm crying, and the worst part of this entire ordeal is the fact that this hallway isn't empty.

"What's the hurry, Malfoy?" I hear someone shout in my direction. I recognize the voice as a Slytherin but I'm too upset to distinguish who. I burst into the first bathroom I come across and with a brief moment of relief I realize that it is, in fact, a boy's lavatory. I don't give it any further thought, knowing Harry will be in at any moment and I lock myself in the nearest stall.

I shove my finger down my throat.

I'm able to pull this off four times before the stall door blasts open and a set of strong arms wrap tightly around me and pull me out. I struggle briefly for freedom.

"Let me go!" I shout at him, frantically. "This is your fault! You made me eat so much!" The last word dissolves with a sob. "It's your fault!" My stomach lurches and I gag. Harry releases me just enough that I'm able to lean over and vomit again, the contents of my stomach splattering against the stone floor below me. "This is your fault." I say again, gasping. "You m-made me do this."

"Draco, stop!" Harry shouts. "Just stop!" I sink down on to the floor, sobbing.

"I-it's y-your fault!"

"That's it." Harry says, shortly. "That's it. You're coming with me." He grabs me roughly by my arm and yanks me to my feet.

"Ow! You're hurting me!" Harry, while loosening his grip slightly, doesn't let me go and drags me into the hallway. "What are you doing? P-people are going to see me!" Harry takes a deep breath but keeps pulling me.

"Then you're going to have to calm down." He pulls me up a set of stairs and as we march, we pass by a group of Hufflepuffs who stare after us.

"Was that Potter and Malfoy just now?" I choke on a sob.

"Let me g-go… where are we g-going?" By the time the second person chortles in my direction I've decided that I need to calm down before everyone in the school hears about it. I start taking deep breaths and – with my free hand – wiping the tears away from my cheeks. "Harry stop…." I plead. He ignores me and we continue up flight after flight of stairs. Once I've stopped crying, we've reached the seventh floor, and I realize where it is that where going. A sense of relief washes through me. We're going to our study. Sensing the end to my escape struggle, Harry releases me as he paces back and forth along the familiar stretch of wall. I stand and watch him, trying to get my hands to stop shaking. When the door opens I follow him willingly into the room.

When I step through the doorway, I'm shocked to find that instead of our cozy, calming study, the room I've entered is walled entirely by mirrors. My body tenses up and before I have a chance to turn to run Harry's grabbed both of my shoulders and is holding me in place.

"Let me go," I whisper. "Please." I start to tremble. Harry pushes me forward, until I'm standing directly in front of a mirror. I squeeze my eyes shut, tight.

"Seeing as this is all my fault," he says gently, and guilt rushes my mind like water, "I want you to see what it is that you've been doing to yourself. Open your eyes." I shake my head.

"No."

"Draco, open your eyes." I shake my head still more violently and I feel a few hot tears slip out and escape down my cheeks.

"No… I can't." I whisper. "Harry please don't make me."

"You're making this harder, Draco. Please, just open your eyes, and look at yourself." Slowly, I unclench my eyelids, and glance toward my reflection. A moment later I avert my eyes to the floor and I'm dismayed to find that it too is displaying my image up at me. I look around, frantically, trying to find someplace that I can look without seeing myself.

A distressed sound escapes my lips. I whirl around, searching for the door, but I am unable to find it. I'm trapped. My ugly body is staring down at me, forcing itself into to my acknowledgment without chance of escape. All I can see is me.

My translucent face.

My colorless hair.

My boring, grey eyes.

My stupid, bulging teeth.

My body.

My imperfect, unflattering, flabby, and overall disgusting body.

I can't get away.

Harry stands back and watches me while I try desperately to find someplace that I can look to avoid myself. My body shakes violently and I begin to hyperventilate. I can't get away. Tears begin to slide uncontrollably down my cheeks. I can't make a sound other than with weak, shuddering sobs. I don't want to see this. I cover my face with my hands.

Harry approaches me from behind, and I tense as I hear his footsteps coming closer.

He places a hand on each of my shoulders, and kisses me gently beneath my right ear. I don't respond. With a calm and steady hand, Harry grabs each of my hands within his own, and from behind me he pulls my palms away from my face. My crying grows in volume.

"I'm not doing this to hurt you, love." He says softly. "I only need you to see what I do."

"I s-see it." I stammer out. "I see how ugly I am." Harry wraps his arms around me and rests his cheek on my shoulder.

"That's just the thing, Draco. You aren't ugly. But you need to see how you're destroying yourself." I don't answer him. "Now listen to me, Draco. I need you to undress for me." I spin around in his arms.

"H-harry please…" Harry reaches up and brushes a tear from my cheek and I watch him do so in the mirror ahead of me. The one he's wiped away is quickly replaced by three more.

"Off with that sweater." He tells me. "Come on." When I try to protest, my voice catches on a sob instead. Harry grabs the bottom of my shirt and begins to pull it up over my head. I don't fight him. Once he's removed it, I stand in the middle of the room, my arms crossed over my front, in a futile attempt to cover myself. "And now the pants," he tells me. "Please, Draco."

Again, I don't make any move to undress myself, but I allow Harry to slide my trousers slowly off of my body and on to the floor. He leaves my underwear on, and I step out of my pants as he leads me close to a mirror. From this position, I can see both the front and the back of me. I can see my ass protruding into the room behind me and I cry harder.

"We'll stand here all day if we need to, Draco. I'm going to wait for you to calm yourself so that you're able to look in properly." I hope he realizes that as long as I'm here, I'm not going to stop crying. Not ever.

At least, that's how it feels, anyway.

As we stand in front of the mirror for what feels like ages, Harry holds me from behind and hums to me softly. Somehow, I manage to calm myself down enough for Harry to speak to me. With soft, warm hands, he rubs me down my sides and across my stomach. He moves back up again and stops on my rib cage.

"These, Draco," he tells me, "are your ribs. Do you want to know what the problem is here?" He asks. I just chew on my lower lip to keep from crying again and wait for him to answer. "The problem is that I can see them." I sniff. "You haven't been eating," he tells me. "And what you have been eating you've been throwing up. Your body is eating away at you to compensate. Pretty soon there will be nothing left, and that scares the hell out of me." I stare into the mirror and try to see what he does. I can't find it in me. He slides his hands down again, stopping at my hips.

"These are your hip bones. Do you know what the problem is here, Draco?" Still I say nothing. "Answer me."

"You can s-see them?" I stammer out, trying to see them myself.

"They're sticking out, Draco." He rubs my stomach. "You need to have more here. I'm surprised you have any energy at all." I don't say anything but think. I suppose I have been dizzy lately. "Open your mouth." I turn around and look at him.

"Why?"

"Just do it, Draco." I do. "Get close to the mirror. Can you see your throat at all? Do you see how it's all red like that? Do you see your teeth?" I close my mouth and watch my lower lip tremble in the mirror. "That's from throwing up every day. Your stomach acid is literally dissolving you and after a while your teeth are going to get weak and fall out."

"I k-know that…" I answer him weakly. "It's why I carry my tooth brush…" Harry grabs my hand and forces it to my face.

"The back of your fingers are bleeding from shoving them down your throat today. You're destroying yourself!" He's beginning to sound desperate. "Do you really think that this is what it takes to make you beautiful? That _this _is how to be perfect?" He runs his fingers through my hair. "All this beautiful blonde hair of yours. These dead ends. These brittle strands. It's because you don't have enough nutrition in your body to even keep it going!" His voice breaks and, holding my hands, he turns my arms out so that my wrists are toward the mirror. "Look at what you're doing to yourself. For once in your life I want you to take a good hard look at what you're letting yourself be reduced to and you tell me what good you're doing!"

I open and close my mouth a few times before I'm even able to get words out in a response.

"M-my ass is sticking out…" I manage, watching my body in the mirror. The panic is beginning to return and I can feel that I'm about to start crying again. "I-I need to look like them… I have… I to be perfect or… or no one will want me…" The tears spill over. "Please Harry!" I sob. Take the mirrors away… make it stop, Harry I can't take this!" I lower myself to a sitting position and burry my face in my knees, just to make the pictures go away. For a long while I just cry, hard. I feel Harry sit beside me and he begins to rub my back in an attempt to calm me down.

When I look back up again, the pictures on the walls aren't only my reflection anymore. They're memories.

There's me, locking myself in a bathroom stall after dinner time.

Me, inspecting the bodies of my Quidditch mates in the changing tent, comparing them to my own.

Me, throwing up after a Quidditch match.

Me, sitting on my bed with the pocket knife.

Me, less than an hour before, fighting against Harry. The picture is silent, but I can hear myself screaming at him. "This is your fault!"

I clamp my hands over my ears, hard, but it does no good to drown out something that I'm hearing within myself. The pictures don't stop coming. My eyes are dark, my hair is frail and my ribs show from within my chest.

"Harry…" I beg, faintly, "Harry please… please make it stop…" I'm feeling sick. Everything I'm seeing here is ugly. I burry my face once again into my knees. "I can't d-do this, Harry, please! I-I want to die… make it stop!" I feel Harry's arms around me, tight.

"Shh…" He whispers into my ear. "Hush, now. It's over. It's all gone. It's alright." I grab blindly onto his shirt and bury my face into his neck. He kisses me on the top of my head. I cry.

"I-Is it really g-gone?" I ask, hiccupping. "N-no more?" I sound desperate. I am desperate.

"No more." He answers gently. Slowly, I lift my head out of Harry's neck. The room has transformed back into our study, ruddy sandwiches and all. The only difference is the couch, spread across the back wall of the room. Harry picks me up from the floor and guides me over to it. He sits down and I lay on my side, resting my head on his lap, and curl my knees up against me. With a few shuddering breaths, I start to calm down, closing my eyes and focusing on the feeling of Harry gently petting my hair.

I roll over so that I'm facing in toward Harry and away from the rest of the room. Exhaustion takes me over and let myself fall into a state somewhere between asleep and awake. Harry hums to me and I force myself not to think of what's going to happen to me when I leave this place.

I force myself not to think of what might happen when Harry leaves me alone tonight.


End file.
